


For the Greater Good

by AlwaysVictory



Series: Destiny not Dust [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Conspiracy, Crossover, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Parallel Universes, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysVictory/pseuds/AlwaysVictory
Summary: The galaxy is a vast and dangerous place, and secrets have a way of resurfacing at the worst of times. Hermione and Harry find themselves confronted with hard choices as they end up in the middle of conflicts that reveal some of Starfleet’s darkest truths.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel of "In this Universe or the Next"! A quick note before we begin: expect a lot of canon-divergence, and not just when it comes to the events leading to and of the second film. Timelines will be affected as well. I'll be changing them to suit my needs. For example, instead of a year between the events of the first and second films, I'll have three.
> 
> Okay with that? Then hop in and buckle up! It's gonna be a long and bumpy ride.
> 
> Huge thanks to my alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. Star Trek is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

**_March 18, 1995 — the outskirts of Whitby, North Yorkshire, UK_ **

Hermione Jane* Granger, somewhat dishevelled and slightly out of breath, walked into the meeting room and placed a small bottle of pills on the large oval table.

"Sorry we're late—" she began.

"We have it!" finished Nikolai Volkov, her colleague and boyfriend as he followed her into the room and shut the door.

For a moment, silence overtook the room. Those seated around the table switched their gazes between them and the bottle, confusion and disbelief written all over their faces.

"Excuse me," Vogel, a member of a German resistance cell, interjected in his heavily accented English. "But I thought we were here to discuss 'Project Liberty.' Not some . . . pills."

Harry Potter, the leader of their resistance cell, gave Vogel a dark look, but otherwise ignored him in favour of turning to Hermione and Nikolai.

"Are you sure?" he asked them.

Hermione nodded. "Absolutely. It works exactly as I told you it would."

Harry gave her a long look, and she could practically hear his brain cogs whirring around, churning out ideas of what this meant for the resistance, and what their next step would be.

She turned her gaze to those who had convened to discuss 'Project Liberty'—some of them had yet to be informed of the little side project that their resistance cell had been working on. She'd never been a fan of public speaking, but at the moment her grim sense of accomplishment outweighed any anxiety.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said and gestured to the bottle of pills, "meet our best chance of infiltrating the Augments and obtaining the information pertaining to 'Project Liberty.' It may even be the key to destroying them entirely."

Bertelli, second-in-command of one of the Italian cells, leaned forwards to eye the bottle suspiciously.

"And how is this," she said, gesturing to it, "going to help us? Please, explain yourselves."

"Long story short," interjected Harry, "it's going to provide whoever takes one of those things with the same talents and features as an Augment—temporarily."

Voices exploded into the quiet room—some outraged, others fascinated. The loudest of them outright refused even to consider the idea of becoming one of them, even if not permanently, while others welcomed it, daring to hope that this might be the beginning of the end.

Hermione sighed as she sank into a cold, empty chair and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes and let all the noise wash over her, trying to empty her mind for just a moment. How long had it been since she last slept? Or ate anything other than those military rations that began to taste like gruel after the second helping. Running on sheer willpower—and caffeine—she'd barely had any time to breathe, so she took this moment to do just that, letting Harry handle the fallout of the metaphorical bomb that she'd just dropped. He was better at handling such things anyway; it was part of the reason why he was their leader.

Nikolai sat heavily in the chair beside her, favouring his right leg. He laced his fingers through hers under the table. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, squeezing his hand lightly.

"We make a good team, _da?" _he whispered, leaning into her ear.

She offered him a small, tired smile and nodded. Ever since Harry had brought Nikolai into their cell after rescuing him from under a collapsed building in Saint Petersburg, the twenty-nine-year-old brilliant Russian biochemist had contributed a lot to their cause.

_"They burned my home to the ground, destroyed my capital city, killed everyone I love,"_ Nikolai had said once he recovered from his injuries and was given the choice to return to his country. _"I'm going to repay them with the same coin if it's the last thing I do."_

So he stayed, saying that he'd have a better chance of revenge by collaborating with them.

But Nikolai wasn't the only non-Brit in their cell. War had a way of uniting people and making allies even out of old enemies when the fate of the world was on the line. He wasn't even the only one who sought revenge—there was hardly a place on Earth where people had not lost someone due to the Augments.

War had come as suddenly as rain on a sunny day, even as the world spun on, oblivious and content. A population of sheep, unaware of the wolves at their gate.

Hermione would never forget that day—September 8th, 1992—and not merely because it was also, coincidentally, her birthday. It was the day when the Augments, who'd been biding their time for decades and waiting for an opportune moment to strike, had finally made themselves known to the world. They'd boldly interjected themselves into the long-awaited denuclearization talks between America and Russia, and showed exactly what they were capable of in their disagreement.

Being a weapons system engineer herself, Hermione had to admit that the nuclear strikes the Augments had conducted to the heart of Washington, D.C.—where the talks had been taking place—and Moscow were horrifyingly brilliant. They'd detonated cascade nuclear bombs (a weapon previously unheard of) and positioned them so that they yielded maximally devastating results—not just from the bomb itself, but also from the resulting superheated tornado that vaporized everything in its path.

Then the Augments had appeared on every television and radio channel and announced the end of the old world and the beginning of a superior one, pronouncing themselves as the new regime. It'd been something like out of a children's cartoon, with the villain making an ultimatum—but infinitely more terrifying, if only because of the sheer death toll.

Targeting the capitals of the two most powerful nations had been both strategic and symbolic. Despite recent changes in their traditional adversarial relationship, the two countries had still possessed the largest militaries in the world. By removing their centres of authority, the Augments had not only made a tactically effective move, but had demonstrated their complete lack of concern with maintaining the status quo.

_"There is no need to fear us,"_ Noonien Singh, who was now known as simply 'Khan,' had said. _"We seek only to lead the world into a glorious future. A future free from suffering, free from pain. A future of peace for all._

_"We merely want to save you from yourselves,"_ he'd added, before giving the old rulers, who still believed they had a grip on their power, a simple choice—peace or war.

Unsurprisingly, the world had chosen war. But it was difficult to fight openly against a force that was already occupying.

There were no concrete targets to strike, because the Augments were everywhere: in the governments, in the armies, offices, and schools. They'd first captured the major population centres—more for psychological effect than anything else. Their agents seeded within governments and armies had dispatched the nominal leaders. After that, they'd only needed to take care of the remaining opposition, which had been almost easy thanks to their superior strength and intelligence. And that wasn't even taking into account the machines they'd come with, which were so advanced as to be nearly alien.

Three weeks. That's how long it had taken them to gain control of the forty strongest nations on Earth. With their command structures compromised, the remnants of the various armed forces were no match for the Augments. In some places, they were even greeted as liberators.

But in the end, humans were a rebellious species at heart. Resistance cells formed all over, immediately going underground, living like nomads to avoid detection. And slowly, carefully, they reached out to each other to create a web of allies and resources in a hostile world.

Most recently, allied intelligence had discovered that Khan had acquired over 200 bio-warheads from the former Soviet Union. There was also a word of the redevelopment of some sort of flesh-eating bacteria and preparations to deliver a significant blow to the resistance.

But the most troubling of all was something called 'Project Liberty.' No one knew exactly what it was and what it entailed, though many members of the resistance had died in an attempt to get the information, but it was known that the Project was very important to the Augments and that it would be the crowning glory of everything that they'd done to date.

Given the Augments' ambitions and their idea of 'liberty,' it could only be bad news for the resistance. It was the reason why they'd assembled to brainstorm and to plan further course of action.

"—sacrificial lamb—"

"—suicide—"

"—can't be serious!"

"—impossible!"

"—for the greater good—"

"And how long is 'temporary'?"

"Forty-eight hours," supplied Hermione, deciding it was time to jump back into the conversation.

"Only forty-eight hours?" asked Garcia of Spain.

Hermione offered a nod in confirmation.

"And then what?" inquired Bertelli.

"Then it's time for another pill," explained Hermione in a tone that suggested the answer was obvious.

"And how exactly," Vogel put in, his tone agitated, "would one do that in the presence of actual Augments? I'm sure they don't ever get ill, and there would be no justification for the presence of these pills in the first place!"

Hermione exhaled, rubbing at her temples.

"I have a plan," she said evenly, meeting Vogel's gaze and doing her best to remain calm, even though part of her wanted to scream in frustration and throw something against the nearest wall. Everyone was on edge, especially Vogel, who was the sole survivor of his recently obliterated resistance cell.

Vogel crossed his arms and stared back at her. "_Wunderbar._ And I suppose you'd want one of us to execute it? Be your guinea pig for a drug that I'm sure hasn't even been tested properly?"

"Hey, watch it!" cut in Nikolai, slamming a hand down on the table and startling a few people. "Instead of talking out of your ass and jumping into unfounded, baseless conclusions, why don't you just wait and hear out all the information first?"

"I think I've seen and heard all I need to know!"

"How could you have? Can't exactly listen if you never shut up!"

Nikolai and Vogel began arguing, shouting over each other. For a long while, no one bothered trying to stop it, either sitting back to watch or still discussing the new information among themselves.

"Everyone, shut it!" resounded Harry's booming voice, immediately silencing everyone in the room.

Hermione had to hand it to him. Despite his young age, Harry made an excellent leader—he had a natural talent for it. There were those, of course, who initially didn't take him seriously. But given his sense for justice and surprising cunning, it usually didn't take very long before they changed their minds and began following him loyally. There was a reason why their resistance cell was one of the more active and productive ones out there.

Harry turned to Hermione and indicated for her to speak.

She rose to her feet and placed a hand on Nikolai's shoulder. He immediately squeezed it, showing his support.

"First of all," she began, "no one needs to be a _guinea pig_ or carry out this mission . . . Because the drug's already been tested, and I'll be the one to carry out the mission."

"What?" Juliet exclaimed. "No! Why does it have to be you?"

Hermione met her sister's gaze. "Li-Li," she began gently, "because of the way this pill had to be made . . . Nikolai and I have been working on it for a while and were getting nowhere. It wasn't until I had the idea to key the formula to a specific DNA that we began making progress."

"And you used your own," Juliet immediately deduced.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed.

"But why can't we change that and key it now to someone else's DNA?"

"Time, Li-Li. We don't have enough time. We need to act very soon, or else . . ." She didn't have to finish the sentence for everyone to understand what she meant.

Juliet turned to her husband. "You knew about this?"

Harry merely offered a nod.

"And you're okay with this?!"

"We're at war, Li-Li!" Harry's voice rose as did his ire. "Sometimes we have to do things even if we're not okay with them. Besides, Hermione is more than qualified to carry out the mission."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." Juliet crossed her arms and adopted a neutral tone, although Hermione could read the underlying frustration in her body language and facial features. "God knows there's probably very little she's not qualified for."

She turned her hard gaze back to Hermione. "And what about side-effects? There are bound to be some, right? With a drug like this."

Hermione exchanged a glance with Nikolai before replying, "I haven't been exposed to it long enough to notice anything, but the preliminary primate testing hasn't thrown up any significant red flags."

Nikolai sighed and looked down on his hands.

_'Liar,'_ she could read in his eyes before he averted his gaze.

_À la guerre comme à la guerre,_ she thought at him grimly, and then continued, "The truth is: we need to carry out this mission—not just to find out about 'Project Liberty,' but also to acquire the crucial final bit of information for the completion of the bioweapon."

"I'm assuming this is where you share the details about this mission?" interjected Balogh, the Hungarian representative.

Hermione nodded, preparing to share her plan of action. "I might be the one directly in the line of fire, so to speak, for this mission, but I can't carry it out without all of your help. So—"

"Hold on for just a moment!" Juliet interrupted, her gaze flicking between her sister and Harry. "And what about the bioweapon? Who's going to finish it, if we send our best weapons system engineer on that mission? The one she may not come back from?"

_"Attendez! Attendez, s'il vous plaît!"_ cut in Mermillon of France, gesticulating wildly. "What are you talking about now? What bioweapon?"

Hermione met his gaze steadily. "The one that will ensure the Augments' superior biology to be their downfall." She turned back to her sister. "And to answer your question, Li-Li, I haven't been idle here while you were on a mission in Belgrade. The weapon is mostly finished, and once we get the information we need, any decent geneticist will be able to finish it. I've left sufficient instructions for its completion, so even if I die today—"

Whatever else she might have said was suddenly cut off by the blaring of the alarm. A moment later, the building shook, making dust fall off the walls and ceiling—they were under attack.

Harry was the first one on his feet, weapon ready in his hands.

He pressed a button on the wall panel to activate the intercom. "Attention everyone, engage all emergency procedures. Active Protocol 33 Code One Bravo Zero One. This is not a drill! I repeat: Active Protocol 33 Code One Bravo Zero One."

He terminated the connection and turned to the people in the room. "Everyone knows what they're supposed to do?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then move it!"

By the time Hermione and Nikolai arrived at the lab to pack up what they could take and destroy the rest—they couldn't afford any of it falling into enemy hands—dozens of booby traps had been set off by the Augment forces, the gunfire had picked up, shouting and screams had intensified.

"Go, I'll catch up to you!" said Nikolai, carefully attaching C-4 blocks to their computer systems.

"Just a moment," she replied, walking over to the cages that contained the animals—rats, rabbits, primates—they'd used as test subjects during their research.

She opened the cage doors one by one, freeing the animals. Before they could scamper off, she pointed to the patch on her sleeve, an encircled fleur-de-lis that served as the symbol of the resistance.

"Friends in danger," she told them.

The animals, augmented over the course of their research, were intelligent enough to follow her direction, as well as strong and aggressive. Hopefully, they would be able to provide some distraction and extra help so the members of the resistance could get out safely.

The animals skittered away—most of them anyway. Three of the cages remained occupied. One of them contained very recently (probably the past 30 minutes, Hermione estimated) deceased Bluebell the bunny, another with Lucy the rat, and the third—still alive but barely moving, Philip the monkey.

"I'm sorry, Philip," Hermione whispered, gently petting it.

The monkey looked up at her, its eyes glazed over, and attempted to sit up, but failed.

"Hermione!" Nikolai shouted. "You're still here? Let's go!"

Together, they hurried down the winding corridors towards the nearest evacuation point in the low, emergency lighting—the Augments must have taken out the main generator.

"This is no good," said Nikolai breathlessly a few moments later, gesturing to his leg.

He'd broken it back in Saint Petersburg when he'd gotten trapped under a collapsed building; the bones hadn't quite healed properly, leaving him with a limp.

"Leave me and go. I'm only slowing us down."

"No!" protested Hermione. "We can make it! We can both make it!"

He shook his head. "We both know that's not true. In fact, we knew it from the very beginning of our relationship." He shoved the case he was carrying into her hands. "You must continue alone and finish what we started. Make sure those _radishes_ get what's coming to them."

Their little inside joke of calling the Augments_ radishes_, or _rediski_ in Russian, after a Soviet comedy film that referred to 'bad people' as such, failed to make her smile this time.

He made a face and pulled her in for a quick, chaste kiss.

"Kolya—" she attempted, even though she knew he was right.

A series of explosions went off in the distance, and he took the safety off his rifle. "Now's not the time to be stubborn, _solntse_."

The gunfire was very close now—it seemed just around the corner.

Stifling her tears, she swallowed, and said, "Kolya, I just wanted to say one last thing. Thank you—for everything."

He nodded and practically pushed her through the door to the next passage and sealed it behind her.

"Go now and don't look back," she could hear his muffled voice through the door. _"S Bogom!"_

Then Hermione heard him shout, _"Idite syuda, svolochi!"_ followed by more gunfire.

A few seconds later, her ears were ringing from the result of several grenades exploding, and she heard no more from Nikolai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Middle name change is done deliberately—not a mistake or typo.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My unending gratitude goes to my amazing alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help. She's truly a gem :)
> 
> A special thank you to my friend [writing_as_tracey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey) for her support. She's a marvellous writer, whose stories will always leave you craving more. You're welcome to check out her profile and dive into her many wondrous tales :)

**_Stardate 2260.338 —_** **_San Francisco, California, Earth_**

Hermione arrived at the crowded San Francisco spaceport and had only just begun navigating her way through the rush of disembarking shuttle passengers. She cast her gaze around, looking for an exit. She didn’t have much in the way of luggage—just her backpack and a very important case in her hands—so at least she could skip the baggage claim and get out of here as fast as possible. After what she’d been through recently, all she wanted to do was settle down somewhere quiet and take a breather. 

Before she could take another step, she heard an unfamiliar voice call her name. 

“Cadet Granger!” said a tall, burly security officer. “This way, please.” 

She looked in the direction he had gestured and started in surprise at who she saw waiting there.

_ Chris? What’s he doing here? _

Last Hermione had heard before she’d left for the science conference on Betazed, Admiral Christopher Pike had been away on some peace talks with the Klingons. The tensions between the Empire and the Federation were still high, but so far they’d been able to avoid a war—in large part thanks to the admiral’s efforts. His past experiences with the Klingons, the knowledge he’d gained from studying all the available information on their people, and his new position in Starfleet Security all combined to make him one of the ideal candidates to negotiate peace. The lack of open conflict indicated he was doing a fantastic job. 

Before she could greet him, a commotion further down the corridor drew Hermione’s attention. She turned to see several individuals arguing with the security officers and calling her name—judging by the tablets and audio devices they were brandishing in her direction, they could only be journalists.

“Admiral?” Hermione looked to Chris in confusion, but as she opened her mouth to continue, he cut her off. 

“Let’s get out of here first, shall we?” he said, placing a hand between her shoulders and guiding her towards a set of double doors. “I can take that if you like,” he added, motioning to the case she was carrying. 

Hermione eyed him for a moment, questions bubbling behind her lips, but wordlessly handed him her luggage. As they walked down the corridors usually reserved for spaceport personnel, her curiosity and unease only grew. 

Because even here, they couldn’t entirely escape the interested looks. Employees scutting by on errands gave double-takes—one poor sod nearly brained himself walking into a wall. 

“I’ll have to hunt down and reprimand the person who failed to execute my orders to have you put on a separate shuttle and taken directly to Hangar 2,” Chris grumbled. “Your arrival was meant to be private.” 

“I can deal with a little attention,” Hermione waved him off, adjusting a strap on her backpack. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t expect to see journalists here.”

“Yeah, well. Any ship surviving a Class 9 neutronic storm with only minor damage and no casualties is sure cause for excitement.”

He dismissed the two security officers that were accompanying them, before continuing, “Beaufort is already planning a press conference—and then probably hoping to finally ship you off to Regula I”.

Regula I was the Federation’s newest and most advanced research facility, located near the Mutara Nebula. Ever since Hermione had met him, Admiral Beaufort had made her numerous offers to join the facility—coming up with a different position every time, as though trying to find something that would suit her tastes enough to tempt her. She’d graciously declined every time; the offer hadn’t been unappealing, but she and Harry had long ago agreed to exercise caution and to stick together when it came to Starfleet. 

Beaufort’s persistence also explained why Chris was personally meeting her at the spaceport; he’d wanted to make sure that the head of Starfleet Advanced Technologies didn’t pull rank and whisk her away somewhere the moment she stepped off the shuttle. Despite how busy Chris was, he was always looking out for her and Harry. 

Hermione made a face. “He can keep hoping.”

“I had a word with Admiral Marcus,” said Chris. “I’m hoping he can get him to back off. But you know how Beaufort is, all excited about the endless possibilities of combining technology with your abilities.”

Chris switched her case from one hand to another, his expression turning thoughtful. “I do agree with him. To a point,” he added quickly. “I think he’s being too forceful, and I believe that the choice ultimately should be yours and yours alone. But look at all the lives you just saved—your own included.” 

Did she imagine it, or was there a slight hitch at the end of his last sentence? She and Harry had both come to regard Chris as family, and they knew the feeling was mutual; it even extended to include Chris’ sister Charlotte and his nephew, William. When the _ Curie _—the science vessel that had been taking Hermione and other participants of the conference on Betazed back to Earth—had gotten caught up in a neutronic storm, sitting around and waiting for news must have been nerve-wracking for them. 

“I guess I was in the right place at the right time for a change,” Hermione said lightly. “At least we now know my device works.” 

She’d been working on the prototype for her new shield generator for over two years, and her hard work had finally paid off. She’d been very surprised (mainly because the device was a combination of both science and magic, and her and Harry’s abilities were still largely kept under wraps and revealed only on a need-to-know basis) when she’d been asked to give a presentation at the conference and speak about her creation (without revealing classified information), and the implications it had for the future of the Fleet and the Federation. 

She’d tested it previously, of course, but not very extensively, and certainly not against a Class 9 neutronic storm. She’d had very little sleep over the past two weeks on the _ Curie _, having to make numerous adjustments and modifications to the device even as the threat of death hung over all their heads. But they’d made it. 

Thank Merlin, they’d made it. 

Feeling too exhausted to continue on the much too-recent topic, she attempted to switch gears. 

“When did you get back to Earth?” she asked. 

“Don’t change the subject,” Chris said sternly. “I wasn’t done yet.”

He stopped and set the case down on the floor, his stance firming in a way that Hermione knew signified a complete lack of willingness to be diverted. Then, making sure that the coast was clear and there were no security cameras in the vicinity—it wouldn’t be appropriate otherwise, given their positions as admiral and cadet—he stepped forward and gave her a quick, fatherly hug. 

“You gave us all quite a scare,” he said, picking up the case again and continuing their walk through the spaceport. “And I know what space is like firsthand and should be used to it by now . . . but somehow it’s different with you kids.” 

Hermione smiled. Chris may not have had any biological children, but there were a few who considered him to be their father figure. Will, James . . . and now she could add Harry and herself to that list. 

Speaking of her best friend . . .

“Where_ is _Harry?” she asked. “I thought he said he’d be here.” 

Chris sighed. “The _ Curie _ was running way behind schedule, and conveniently there were a few cadets who needed remedial instructions in hand-to-hand combat. So I made sure that Harry was the one asked to teach them—it gave him something to do other than hurry up and wait. He was going crazy with worry ever since he heard the news. At one point, I thought he was going to commandeer a ship to go and rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” She raised an eyebrow. “From the neutronic storm? _ That _ would have worked out well.”

Chris laughed. “I didn’t say he was being rational, did I? I talked some sense into him, of course. But you know how overprotective he is of you.”

“No more so than you are of Charley,” she pointed out. 

“True. I suppose that’s a brother-sister thing. He kinda reminds me of me when I was his age. Speaking of my sister, she’s cooking up a storm and expecting us all for dinner. Will and Harry will join us once they’re off duty. 

“That is, if you aren’t too tired,” he added, throwing her a look and probably taking note of shadows under her eyes. “If you are, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Hermione _ was _ tired, but she was also eager to see the people she’d come to care for—there was no better tonic for recovering from a brush with death.

She smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

She then gestured to her case that contained the device that had saved her life. “Can I drop this off at the lab first?”

“That, you can.” He held out his hand to her. “Just do it. I know you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t.”

One Apparition later, the prototype had been safely deposited in the lab, and Chris suggested that they walk to his sister’s flat. Since it wasn’t very far from the Academy grounds, he thought it might be good for Hermione to get some fresh air after being shut up inside a small science vessel for two weeks. Hermione happily agreed, although she had a sneaking suspicion that his suggestion was as much for his benefit—to walk off the nausea caused by being magically squeezed through a space tube—as it was for hers. 

She breathed in the crisp, fresh evening air as they walked down asphalt pathways, avoiding the joggers in their Starfleet issued gym attire. That indefinable scent that hit her whenever she returned to Earth after travelling for some time . . . Well, aside from being too nostalgic for words, it was a nice change from the subtle staleness of recycled air. 

The commons, as was usual at this time, were buzzing with activity, a diverse crowd of cadets walking this way and that, laughing and chatting, most in Federation Standard, but some not. 

Despite it being the beginning of December, here in San Francisco, the weather was mild compared to what she was used to. Winters here were more wet than cold, and in the two and a half years that she’d lived here, she’d never seen snow. Even now, looking at the lights reflecting off the glistening pathways, she could tell it had rained recently. 

Chris slowed his pace as they passed the Memorial Garden. 

“Have you talked to Kirk yet?” he asked, eyeing the sketia tree that she and James had planted. 

She smiled at the mention of James and turned to look at the tree as well. It still flourished, unaffected by the strong winds and torrential downpours. If anything, its environment seemed to make it bigger and stronger. 

_ Definitely an example to follow _ , Hermione thought to herself, before replying, “A little. After the _ Curie _ got the comms back up and running.”

“Your friends on the _ Enterprise _ have been worried too,” he said, giving her a look that she didn't quite know what to make of. “I’ve been receiving multiple messages from them every day while you were incommunicado.”

Hermione chuckled. “They’re the ones incommunicado now.”

The _ Enterprise _ had been sent to investigate a subspace relay that had gone offline in Sector 218. Their trajectory took them past the Agaron Nebula, which was currently interfering with the communication systems. 

“Not for long,” Chris said.

Before he could say any more, a cadet rounded a corner at a sprint and crashed into him, spilling the drink he was carrying all over the admiral’s uniform. 

“Oh, I’m _ so _ sorry, sir!” the young man cried, his eyes widening in horror. 

He shrank away from Chris’ hard stare and took a step backwards, his eyes darting between the admiral, Hermione, and the Engineering Building. Hermione felt bad for him—she wouldn't want to be in his shoes. 

“I—I’m really—I don’t—I’m so,” he stammered, taking another step backwards. 

When the admiral didn’t say anything, but simply continued to give him a hard look, the cadet got more perturbed.

“I—I’m going to be late—for Commander Li’s—I can’t be late again—I’m really sorry—” he babbled. 

“You’re dismissed, cadet,” said Chris sternly. “Though perhaps in the future you would do well to pay more attention to where you’re going.” 

“Yes, sir! Certainly, sir! Thank you, sir!”

The cadet carefully sidestepped them and, without a second look, sprinted towards the Engineering Building. 

“Some kids nowadays,” Chris grumbled, looking down at his uniform. “I think he might have just ruined my favourite uniform.”

“Chris, all your uniforms are exactly the same,” Hermione pointed out, not bothering to suppress a smile. 

“Still,” he sighed.

After a quick glance around to make sure that no one was in their immediate vicinity, Hermione waved a hand over the uniform, making the stains and the moisture disappear. 

“There you are,” she said, grinning. “Good as new.”

“Thank you.”

They reached Charlotte’s flat without further incident and were greeted with a wide grin and the smell of delicious food drifting from the kitchen. 

“Hermione!” Charlotte exclaimed, hugging the younger woman. “So wonderful to see you!”

She pulled away and studied her. Charlotte’s gaze held what Will called ‘the X-ray thing,’ and judging by her expression, she didn’t quite like what she saw behind Hermione’s eyes. But instead of commenting on it, she merely hugged Hermione once more. 

“I hope the boys get back soon,” she said, glancing at the chronometer anxiously and brushing a hand down her apron front. “The roast chicken is nearly ready.”

“It’ll be fine, Charley,” said Chris tolerantly, giving his sister a quick hug before excusing himself to take a call when his communicator chirped. 

“Always so busy,” tsked Charlotte, shaking her head at her brother’s retreating form. “I hardly see him these days.”

She bustled Hermione into the kitchen, made her sit down, and offered her some tea. 

“When did Chris get back to Earth?” asked Hermione, wrapping her hands around her cup and taking a grateful sip. 

“Two days ago,” Charlotte replied as she put the finishing touches on an amazing-looking cherry pie. 

Once finished, she popped it into the oven and took a seat across from Hermione. 

“And how are the Klingons?” Hermione asked.

Charlotte made a face, fiddling with her apron. 

“Friendly as ever,” she replied sarcastically, stealing another glance at the kitchen chronometer. “Chris isn’t allowed to discuss the details of the peace talks, but he was at least able to tell us that we still _ have _ peace. The threat of war is still there, but no matter how shaky, for now, we have a little breathing room. Let’s just hope things get better, not worse.”

Hermione hoped so, too—for everyone’s sake. 

There was a crack of Apparition from the living room, followed by the voices of two men laughing boisterously. 

“Ah, the boys,” said Charlotte brightly, getting up to check on the roast chicken. “Just on time.”

Harry, who was still grinning at something that Will had said, positively beamed when he saw Hermione. 

“You alright?” he asked after they exchanged a brief hug, and he held her at arm’s length to give her a once over. 

“She’s fine,” cut in Will, popping up behind Harry’s shoulder. “Now move over so I can have my hugs too.” 

He pulled Hermione for a brief, firm hug, then ruffled her hair affectionately. “Missed you, shortie.”

Hermione huffed. “This _ shortie _, no matter how tired she is, can still kick your arse.”

She could hear Charlotte snort in the kitchen.

Will crossed his arms and pulled the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated frown. “Is that any way to talk to your instructor, _ cadet _?”

“Technically, you are no longer my instructor,” Hermione retorted, copying his stance. 

Will was her—and Harry’s—instructor in computer sciences for two quarters. He’d graduated the Academy at the top of his class a year previously, but the Academy didn’t want to let him go because he was something of a genius in his field. Moreover, many computer specialists were notoriously bad teachers, but Will was just the opposite; it was why he was so invaluable. 

But Will was also her friend—not that anyone other than Harry knew about that at the Academy, since they all strove to maintain a professional façade there. Off duty, however, it was an entirely different story. 

“And even if you still were,” Hermione continued, “the answer would still be yes—for messing with my hair. Can’t you see the horrid state it’s already in due to all the humidity? _ Sir _.”

Harry burst out laughing, and Will joined him. After a moment of indignant silence, Hermione couldn’t help but join them too. 

“Having fun, kids?” said Chris, observing the scene from the doorway. 

He’d changed into civilian clothes he kept at his sister’s—he preferred to dress casually for family dinners.

“Best wash up and take your positions at the dinner table,” Chris recommended, “before Charley has a timing meltdown.”

“I heard that!” yelled Charlotte from the kitchen. 

The dinner went much like most other meals Hermione and Harry had shared in this flat —filled with jokes, laughter, and delicious food. Today Will shared a story about a Monchezkin cadet, whose human friends had decided to prank him by attaching an air horn to his seat during a lab, and Harry talked about a student of his (who could not, for the life of her, pass his class—despite all the remedial instructions) and all the shenanigans she got up to in an attempt to get a passing grade. 

“Maybe she’s failing on purpose?” suggested Charlotte, throwing Harry a knowing look. “So that she can spend more time with you?”

“_ Please _,” said Harry with a grimace. “I can honestly tell you it’s not like that.”

This lead to teasing from Will and Charlotte, and more jokes. 

It was so good to see them all laughing. Harry had been working so hard (_ “I’ve got to keep up with you. Can’t have you going off into space without me!” _)—harder than Hermione had ever seen him work at Hogwarts or during his Auror training course. And Chris had looked so worn down these last months; trying to keep peace with the Klingons was not an easy task. Hermione wanted to savour these moments, of them all briefly forgetting everything else and simply enjoying each other’s company. 

She was so lost in her thoughts, that it took Harry gently nudging her in the ribs to realize that Will had asked her something. 

“Blake to Granger!” he said dramatically, using his fork as a pretend communication device. “Do you read? Please, come in!” 

He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him, and then repeated his question. “I heard it was _ your _ brilliant idea to inverse the warp field during the neutronic storm. Want to tell us about it?”

Charlotte glared at her son. Evidently, she preferred not to discuss this matter at the moment. 

Hermione shrugged. “Seemed only logical. We couldn’t outrun the storm, so we needed to ride it out. I calculated that it would be analogous to dropping a metaphorical anchor and prevent us from travelling with the wavefront for who knows how many light-years. Plus, it added another layer of protection from the storm. The warp core had to be converted before the field could be generated, and the _ Curie _’s Chief Engineer isn’t exactly the most open-minded person out there. It all worked out in the end, of course. But it would have been nice to have an engineer well familiar with my thought processes by my side,” she finished, patting Harry on the shoulder. 

“Technically, engineering is my sub-speciality,” said Harry, “and I’m not as good at it.”

“You’re just being modest.”

“No, it’s true,” insisted Harry. “And I wanted to go with you, but—”

“You had your own little recruiting trip,” Hermione finished, happy for the opportunity to change the subject. “How did it go?”

“Quite well.”

And Harry proceeded to tell them about the most recent trip a group of senior cadets had taken to Rigel III to hold information sessions for potential recruits. 

But Will wasn’t quite ready to let go of the subject of inverse warp fields. 

“You realize that it’s never been done before?” he pointed out, directing an impressed stare at Hermione. 

“I do,” she replied primly. “But how do _ you _know about it? I haven’t even filed my report yet!”

“You better not be hacking into places you aren’t supposed to,” said Chris, throwing a stern look at his nephew. 

“Of course not! I just know people who know people,” said Will mysteriously.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Another little bird?”

“Will, change the subject,” Charlotte warned. “I’m sure Hermione doesn’t want to talk about warp fields right now.”

Charlotte was exceptionally perceptive and was right, and Hermione gave her a grateful smile. 

“But, mom,” protested Will. “Do you realize how amazing it is? It’s so—”

“—amazing,” Charlotte cut in. “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

With an exaggerated smile, she turned the conversation elsewhere. “I expect everyone will be able to join us on Christmas day?” she said with deliberate brightness. “Chris?”

“I can’t promise anything,” he replied as was his habit. “But I’ll do my best.”

Charlotte gave him a wry smile, then turned her questioning gaze to Harry and Hermione. 

“Yeah, I think we can make it,” said Harry. “We don’t have anything planned for after the exam. Right, Hermione?”

She nodded absently, internally groaning at the reminder of the exam. 

It wasn’t just any exam. It was the capstone, comprehensive final exam for the first quarter of their final year at Starfleet Academy, and it included a non-simulated mission with a five-person flight crew that consisted only of cadets in their final year. No onboard supervision by the instructors. 

“Speaking of the exam,” said Will, “you guys are in for a treat.”

“Will,” Chris warned.

“What? I’m not divulging some highly classified info here,” Will defended. “Everyone knows that the Federation and Starfleet Academy will be celebrating their centennial anniversary next year. So it’s not surprising they’re doing something special.”

“Do tell,” said Harry, something in his demeanour focusing.

“Sorry, pal,” Will said, glancing at his uncle. “No can do. It’ll be fun, though.”

“Mate, this is an _ exam _ we’re talking about,” pointed out Harry. “How much _ fun _ can it really be?”

“Oh, trust me. It can. Just wait a few more days, and you’ll find out.”

“Can’t wait,” grumbled Hermione, upset at Will for hinting at and mentioning something that he had no intention of divulging. 

Besides, his idea of fun often differed drastically from hers. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my amazing alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

_**Stardate 2260.343 —**_ _**San Francisco, California, Earth**_

By the time Hermione finally made it home from her hospital shift, it was three in the morning. She looked like a drowned rat, with tendrils of dark hair plastered to her face and water dripping off her clothes—not medical scrubs that she usually wore at the hospital, Harry noted, but exercise clothes. He might have laughed at her unkempt appearance, had he not been in a poor mood; he'd been checking the chronometer constantly for the past two hours, his face darkening with every extra minute gone by without an appearance from his friend.

Hermione, upon seeing his anxious expression, immediately asked: "Harry, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? I'm the one who should be asking _you _that question!" retorted Harry, wandlessly and non-verbally summoning a towel. "What happened to you? Are you alright?"

She sighed, grimacing at the puddle forming under her feet, and began removing her shoes. "Everything's fine, Harry."

Harry's hands fisted around the towel before he gently untwisted it to drape over Hermione's drenched shoulders.

"You're soaking wet!"

"I _am _aware of that," she said tiredly. "It's raining. Again."

"I _know_ it's raining!"

He also knew that it was _December_ and not bloody July and that Hermione was much too smart to forget that she could simply _Apparate _home, or use any number of spells to keep herself dry . . . And her changing into exercise clothes only cemented the fact that it was deliberate. He knew that she often used long runs to clear her head, and getting caught in the rain never bothered her. In fact, she welcomed it.

He gave her another once over before allowing the tension to seep from his shoulders; she wasn't shivering, and there was no indication that she was cold. She was just soaking wet.

Harry exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Everyone had their own method of handling stress: Jim liked to murder the punching bag in the gym. Harry liked to go flying on his motorcycle. Hermione's latest coping mechanism was a long run—he just wished it didn't involve worrying him sick.

"Why don't you go and get changed, and I'll make us some hot cocoa?" he suggested.

She mock saluted him. "Yes, sir!"

He picked up a cushion from the sofa on his way to the kitchen and hurled it at her.

She ducked, grinning. "Missed."

When Hermione emerged from the loo, cosied up in her pyjamas and cat-shaped plush slippers that Jim had gotten her for her 24th birthday, there was a mug of steaming hot cocoa waiting for her.

"Tired?" Harry asked, looking up from his book.

She sighed and sat heavily in the armchair across from him. "You can say that."

He gave her a long look and made a disapproving noise (and was a little horrified to hear how much he sounded like McGonagall—or Merlin forbid, Aunt Petunia). There was a kind of tired that was solved by a good night's sleep; sadly, he suspected that Hermione's type of tired was the kind that required a bit more.

She needed a break—they both did. They hadn't had much downtime in the past two years, always dealing with one thing or another. But he was going to change that—and the upcoming winter break was a perfect opportunity.

Some fun, friendship, and good times just might be the medicine they both needed, and they already had a couple of things lined up. Amanda was planning to come to Earth to visit her sister over the Christmas holidays and use the opportunity to drop off some presents at Spock's apartment (the _Enterprise_ was scheduled to soon return to Earth for a short break and reprovisioning); and Will—whose talents with a keyboard went beyond just computers—had invited them to a piano concert he'd be performing in.

Hermione yawned and asked, "And how was your day?"

Harry blinked, refocusing his gaze on his friend.

"Classes, then teaching, then more classes," he said, closing his book. "The usual."

"When did you become as boring as me?" she teased, running a hand through her still-damp hair.

"Hey, no need to get sassy," he shot back wryly. "I'm just doing the best I can. Otherwise, what's the point in going to the Academy, right?"

"Right." She paused for a heartbeat, a teasing sparkle in her voice as she continued: "If only you'd had the same attitude at Hogwarts."

"I was young and stupid. And trying not to get bloody killed every bloody year."

"Is there a need for the bloody language?"

"There bloody is."

They shared a small chuckle, before she picked up her mug of cocoa and took a grateful sip. "Mmm, this is really good. What did you add in here?"

He grinned at her mischievously and set his book down on the coffee table in exchange for his mug. "That's a secret."

"As long as you promise to make this every now and again, I won't threaten you with Legilimency," she joked.

"Deal!" he said. "Are you in the mood for a very late dinner—or should I say a very early breakfast?"

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry." She wrapped her hand around her mug and sighed contentedly. "Neha, Ryan, and I grabbed a quick bite to eat during our break."

"I know Neha, but who's Ryan?"

"A paramedic I often work with."

"You've never mentioned him before."

She shrugged. "There's nothing to mention. He's just one of the colleagues I sometimes share meals with, usually while he talks my ear off about the latest news and movies." She rolled her eyes. "He's taken it upon himself to educate me on pop culture, because I am apparently too uninformed to suit his tastes in a co-worker."

Harry chuckled. "Must be really hard," he teased. "A subject where you aren't the most informed person in the room."

"Like you wouldn't believe," she replied sarcastically. "I have no idea how I'll survive."

He let the smile linger, sitting back and cradling his mug.

She mirrored him, glancing at the chronometer on the wall.

"It's three in the morning, Harry. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugged, staring into the layer of foam on top of his drink. "Just catching up on a few things."

It wasn't exactly a lie—there was a number of things he needed and _wanted_ to work on. But none of those things required him to stay up this late. The real reason behind it was his worry for Hermione's safety: every time she was late coming home from her shift at the hospital, every time one of them was away for one reason or another.

He knew it was stupid. They were adults who could each take care of themselves. Even apart from their magic, they had also become quite skilled in self-defence—their time spent at the Academy, and later studying some _suus mahna _with the Vulcans, saw to that. But worry, as Vulcans so often liked to repeat, was illogical. Fear was illogical. And Harry's greatest fear had long since stopped being Dementors—far more terrifying was the notion of losing those he loved.

He could feel Hermione's gaze on him, studying him, and he knew she'd done the thing where she read his thoughts, no magic needed. He mentally prepared himself for a lecture about how unnecessary his paranoia was, and how she was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

But instead, she turned her gaze to the piles of PADDs on his desk, and the thick books stacked beside him on the sofa.

"M-hm. A bit of _light reading_, I see," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He relaxed.

"I learned from the best," he shot back cheekily.

She smiled and tucked her legs under her.

"And what are you doing with that transmitter now?" she asked, eyeing the disassembled parts that were strewn across the sparse, clear patch on his desk. "I thought you were finally happy with the way it turned out?"

"I was. I am. But there's always room for improvement."

There were currently only two subspace transmitters like it in existence—one in Scotty's possession on board the _Enterprise_, and one with Harry. Working together, they'd been able to nearly double its range. At the time, that had satisfied Harry. But after Hermione's most recent adventure, he'd wanted to see if there was anything he could do to make it function within such phenomena as neutronic storms.

"I could always use another pair of eyes, especially for all the magic-related stuff," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Of course, Harry," she replied, holding a hand out.

"Not now, silly," he scoffed. "It can wait. Just relax, take a deep breath, enjoy your hot drink. I imagine you need it after your shift at the hospital. How was today, by the way?"

"Oh, a typical Friday night shift, you know. Very eventful. Today we had a case of appendicitis, placental abruption, hoverbus accident, three drunken bar fights, a fractured penis—"

Harry nearly choked on his hot cocoa.

"You're joking," he said in disbelief.

"Not at all."

She nonchalantly sipped on her drink. "It's a common misconception, really. People think that it can't be broken because, despite the vulgar slang, there is no actual bone. But you see, it has to do with the pressure overload in the—"

Harry raised a hand to stop her. "You know what? I don't want to know."

As much as he loved Hermione and the fact that he could discuss pretty much anything and everything with her without feeling awkward, he wasn't in the mood for getting an encyclopedic explanation of how exactly a boner might get broken.

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you'd be amazed at the number of coital injuries we see. I can tell you some other time, if you're interested."

"I'm fine, thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Coital injuries. Great. Because there aren't enough other things in life to worry about . . . Makes me wonder though: just how aggressive people have to—"

She mimicked his gesture from moments ago and raised her hand. "Don't ask. And it's not always about being aggressive during intercourse. It's also got to do with certain dangers involved when members of different species decide to engage in sexual relationships. Not entirely compatible parts and all."

She took a long sip of her hot cocoa. "And just so we're perfectly straight, my old friend: if you ever get yourself into something like that, I am definitely not going to be your first responder."

He didn't think he'd want her to be his first responder for something like that either—some things were just best handled by complete strangers you'd hopefully never see again.

"Agreed," he confirmed, and decided to change the subject. "Did you get a chance to read over the info we received earlier today regarding our upcoming exam?"

Hermione groaned. "I did."

"What? I thought you'd like the way they organized everything this year?"

Harry thought it was rather brilliant—almost as brilliant as Lupin's obstacle course for their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam at the end of their third year. Will had mentioned that the Academy was preparing a special, non-simulated mission in the run-up to its centennial anniversary; what he had failed to mention was that this mission wasn't going to be for every senior cadet—only for the top students, who'd passed the theory part of the exam with flying colours. Most cadets would be sent on the usual survey missions, but the top twenty-five would be divided into teams of five to take part in a treasure hunt of sorts. They would be following the path of some of the earliest Starfleet explorers, tracking down and deciphering clues.

"It's not that," Hermione said, wandlessly and non-verbally summoning a throw from her room and wrapping herself in it.

"Oh, then I'm guessing you're not entirely thrilled about our crew?" he speculated.

Harry and Hermione were on the same team—Starfleet had accepted that they were a package deal and no longer attempted to assign them to different crews if it could be helped. The higher-ups knew that in the long run, when confronted with a choice between staying together and staying in Starfleet, they'd always choose the former. And it seemed as though Starfleet needed them more than the other way around—at least for now.

Besides, Harry and Hermione always worked so much better when they were together.

The other three members of their crew were a Caitian by the name Krell, a Bolian Raix Hoss, and an Andorian they were well-familiar with—Shev Ek'Noor. The one they had met at a holo-karaoke bar what seemed like a million years ago.

"Can you blame me?" said Hermione grumpily. "Thankfully, Shev and I are on different tracks, and I don't see him much, other than during this one class on Federation History. The bloke drives me mad. He thought it was a marvellous idea to sneak up on me the other day in the cafeteria. I nearly hexed him."

Harry chuckled.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," she said flatly, glaring at him.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Absolutely not. I can handle him."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you _handled_ him," he joked. "And I won't be your first responder, either."

She picked up a cushion and threw it at him. Harry caught it easily and used it to settle himself more comfortably on the sofa.

"Thanks," he said, grinning.

She crossed her arms and pretended to be angry at him, but he knew better than that.

"Maybe you should just get a boyfriend to get Shev out of your hair?" joked Harry.

"I would never get a boyfriend just to get someone out of my hair," she defended. "And you know it. Besides, I've already got one."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Mr Library, of course." She shrugged. "Who else?"

That wasn't exactly the answer Harry was expecting, but he went with it.

He shook his head. "I must say I'm disappointed in you, Hermione," he said dramatically.

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"You've been cheating on poor Mr Library with Mr Hospital and Mr Science Lab." He wagged a finger at her. "Shame on you, Hermione."

"Surely you've heard of polyamorous relationships, Harry."

Harry laughed at the ridiculous turn their conversation had taken. But the mention of romance had turned Hermione sombre; she began fiddling with the bracelet he had presented her with for her 23rd birthday. It was similar to the one he'd received from her for his birthday earlier that same year, and was enchanted with the combination of Fidelius and Undetectable Extension Charms, designed to replace her wand holster.

Harry knew that her wand wasn't the only thing she kept inside the enchanted bracelet. It was also where she'd tucked away her locket and engagement ring, buried like a hidden treasure.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Sometimes I forget what he looks like," she said quietly, wrapping herself more tightly into her throw.

Thanks to the years of friendship, Harry immediately knew she was talking about Ron.

"It's not that I forget _him_, but it's the small things I find difficult to recall. I look at his photograph, and I can't remember how he smells, how his voice sounds. How he feels beside me. I know it hasn't even been three years yet, but—"

"It feels much longer than that," finished Harry. "I know."

They sat in silence for a short eternity, before Harry pointed out: "We did let them go."

And they did. Back on New Vulcan two years ago, between saving the survivors of the genocide from yet another plight and then helping them rebuild their homeworld. Following Amanda's suggestion, they had written farewell letters to their loved ones. At first, Harry had thought the idea was ridiculous, since it seemed pointless to write to people who would never read them. But Hermione embraced the idea wholeheartedly, claiming that it was a good form of therapy. She'd written page after page, pouring out her heart and soul, while Harry struggled. The words just never seemed to come out right on paper. To him, words like that were meant to go with embraces and strokes of Teddy's hair, kisses and caresses of Ginny's face, a clap on Ron's shoulder, a squeeze of Hagrid's large hand. Nonetheless, Harry had persevered.

Once the letters had been written, they sealed the pages with kisses and tears and promises to remember them; to live well and to find happiness. And then they'd burned them, letting the fire consume all the pain and sorrow and sadness.

To Harry, it had felt like opening Hedwig's cage to let her out for a flight, but then shutting the door permanently behind her.

"I know," Hermione replied. "I guess I'm just a little . . . sad."

"That your perfect memory seems to be failing you in this case?" he asked, aiming for levity.

She nodded distractedly. "I suppose time heals all wounds, doesn't it?" she said with a sigh.

"And yet they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Go figure."

"I guess it can be a little tricky."

"A _little_?"

She shrugged. "Emotions have a way of contradicting themselves."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Those Vulcans might be onto something."

* * *

_ **Stardate 2260.345 — coordinates 23-17-46-11, Section 31's Io Facility** _

John Harrison arrived at Admiral Marcus' office and paused for a heartbeat before pressing the button beside the door. A chime beyond the light blue panel signalled his presence.

"Come in," he heard Admiral Marcus say.

John stepped forward, and the door slid open before him.

Marcus looked up from the PADD in his hands and smiled.

"Ah, John," he said, waving John in. "Come in, come in. Have a seat. I was just reviewing the progress you've made on the undetectable torpedo prototypes. Amazing work, John. You've revolutionized our long-range strike capability. That means fewer of our people will be in harm's way on the ground. Your work will save lives."

"That is gratifying, admiral," said John, taking a seat. "But there is still a number of modifications I wish to implement. The torpedoes are far from ready."

"Give yourself a break, John." Marcus waved him off, leaning back in his seat. "Over the last two years, you've exceeded the wildest expectations of everyone—the doctors, your colleagues, me. You've made unprecedented upgrades to our warp drive technology. You've refined the station's entire computer system. You've designed a new ship, which could probably blow any of our others out of the water even now, while it's incomplete!"

Marcus leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, and smiled again. "You've always been our finest engineer and worked on the most advanced covert projects. It appears that your accident didn't take that away from you, at least."

John furrowed his brow and clenched his fists. "That's exactly it, admiral—"

"Alex," the admiral corrected. "Just Alex. You can drop the formalities when it's just the two of us."

"Alex," John agreed. "It's just . . . It has been two years, and I still remember _nothing_ of my past."

He jumped to his feet and began pacing.

"Oh, I remember how to read, and I figured out how to navigate computer systems very quickly. I recall theorems and math—at least, most of it. But I can't remember any _people_ from my past—family, friends."

He halted by the wall across from the admiral's desk and stared at the painting hanging there—an image of Earth as it was seen from space. Marcus had once shared with him that the painting had been done by his wife, June. He analyzed it in tense silence for a few moments, before turning back to the admiral.

"I know my file says that I have no living relatives. My parents are deceased, no siblings. No wife or children. But I must have had _some_ friends. Why can't I remember them? Why can't I remember any of my colleagues? Why can't I even remember _you_?"

Marcus picked up a stylus and began twirling it in his hands, his gaze fixed firmly down.

"Most of your friends are dead, John," he said finally, meeting John's gaze. "And the ones who are still kicking are still associated with our work—with the way our missions can go, it wouldn't surprise me much if you've repressed things. Despite our advanced medical science, the human brain is still very much a mystery. It is truly a miracle that you are able to function as well as you are after your injury."

John felt his molars grinding together, anger and frustration bubbling up fast, even harder to control than the last time they'd surged up.

_Not good enough! _a voice inside him screamed.

He breathed deeply and slowly, using the technique Dr Vyas had taught him. He strode over to the large floor-to-ceiling window and stared out into space, crossing his arms decisively behind his back.

"I've been waiting these two years for something—anything—to resurface," he said a few moments later, his voice deceptively calm. "I've been seeing Dr Vyas weekly and following her instructions to the letter. But there is still nothing but a black void."

_Just like space_, he added mentally, watching as a shuttle flew into one of the hangar bays visible from the admiral's office.

He turned back to Marcus. "Did I even have a life outside my work? Is there _anything _else you can tell me? Anything that might help me remember more?"

Marcus sighed, putting the stylus down and rising to his feet.

"Starfleet was your life, John. Starfleet was your family." He placed a hand on John's shoulder and gently squeezed it. "I've never met anyone with more devotion to everything Starfleet stands for. When you first woke up after your surgeries, I didn't tell you that you'd come '_home'_ just to be sentimental. It was because it's a fact."

He furrowed his brow and added grimly: "Besides, sometimes not remembering can be a blessing."

"You're talking about Tarsus IV," John deduced sharply.

Marcus nodded. "Believe me, John, it's probably best that you don't remember that particular part of your past. You had nightmares about it for years, even with extensive therapy. Not to mention your eating disorder. Had to have your meals on time and panicked if you didn't. Carried protein bars in your boots just to make sure that . . ." he trailed off and gave his head a shake.

"John, as your friend, I advise you to not push too hard for your memories. If they come back, great. If not—that's fine too. What's past is past. Focus on the future instead."


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my lovely alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

** _Stardate 2260.350 — Starbase 5 spacedock_ **

The five-person flight crew buzzed with nervous energy as they finished performing their maintenance checks and pre-launching procedures. It was a small vessel that they’d been given for the test—only slightly bigger than a shuttle. 

“Impulse manifold purged and clear,” stated Harry as they moved into the pre-flight checks. 

Given that his primary speciality was Security, he’d been put in charge of the tactical station for the duration of the mission. He’d also help with any engineering needs should Raix Hoss, the mission’s flight engineer, require any assistance. 

“Dock control reports ready,” said Krell, the mission’s communications specialist—it was clear from her voice that she was barely holding in a sigh, or perhaps a yawn. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she admitted, using one hand to press the transceiver more firmly into her ear, and the other to tug at the whiskers on the left side of her face. 

From what Harry had heard, she was one of the best comms officers-in-training, and her skills rivalled those of Nyota’s. Krell’s physiology was no doubt a bonus, since Caitians were well-known for being able to hear within frequency ranges beyond that of most humanoids. 

“Me neither—initiating impulse pre-start sequence,” said Shev Ek’Noor, looking up from the helm, his never-still antennae swaying right and left. “I mean, it’s a big deal, isn’t it? We’re really lucky to be at the Academy as it celebrates its centennial anniversary: we got a special exam and a bunch of special events. Plus the newest _ Constitution _-class starship that’s been commissioned just in time for our graduation!” 

“A starship we might never see the inside of if we don’t win this treasure hunt,” said Krell glumly. 

“Microfusion generators online,” said Hermione, seated at a console next to Harry. 

She would be the mission’s sensor operator, as well as tend to any medical needs of the crew should they arise.

Hermione rose to her feet and headed towards the terminal located at the far side of the cockpit to check the environmental controls. 

“Opening antimatter injector ports,” said Shev, following Hermione with his gaze and ogling her behind as she went. “_ You _ probably don’t have to worry, whatever the outcome, right Granger? How does it feel to be famous? The Saviour of the _ Curie _! The inventor of a super-duper shield generator! I’m sure you’ll have any starship of your choosing.” 

He swivelled in his chair to fully face her. “Actually, forget that. They might just give you your own ship if you asked. Honestly, I don’t even know what you’re doing here.”

“Eyes on the instrumentation, Shev,” reprimanded Harry. “Collimate the shield emitters.”

He gave Harry a dirty look but complied. “Collimation sequence in progress.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Shev,” replied Hermione, throwing the Andorian a quick glance. "It’s not that simple." 

“Seems pretty simple to me,” said Shev, shrugging. 

“I sure hope you aren’t implying anything,” said Hermione with a pointed look at Shev. “I intend to have my future assignment judged like everyone else’s.”

With that, she went back to her work. 

Outwardly, she looked calm and composed, but Harry knew better than that—she was absolutely furious for the implication. Just like back at Hogwarts, Hermione worked hard, and many professors and instructors respected her diligence and effort. To some like Shev, who didn’t know her very well, that respect might have looked like favouritism; in reality, there was none of that—she’d earned each and every one of her rewards on merit. The assumption otherwise would naturally gall her. 

A tense silence, interrupted only by the beeping of the instrumentation and tapping of the controls, settled around the small craft. It was interrupted when Raix emerged from the engineering compartment. 

“Dilithium matrix is aligned and calibrated,” he reported, taking a seat at the engineering station. “Antimatter containment fields at 100%.”

Harry had crossed paths with him quite often during classes, and knew him to be brilliant, but rather quiet male of very few words. 

Krell let out a sigh. “Autonomous guidance system initialized and active.”

She continued brightly, no doubt attempting to diffuse the tension: “Imagine we do win this thing, though. We could all be working on the bridge of _ Lexington _after graduation! She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“She looks exactly like the _ Enterprise _,” said Shev flatly. 

“That’s why they call her a sister ship, Shev,” Harry pointed out dryly. 

Shev threw another dirty look in Harry’s direction but didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway,” continued Krell, stroking her whiskers, “this mission is _ really _important. And it’s scary. I mean, we’ll be graded as individuals, of course. But there’s also the collective grade, and I don’t want to let any of you guys down.”

“Much appreciated,” replied Harry with a small nod. “Shields on standby.”

“Field stabilizers online,” said Raix.

Shev sighed. “Can’t wait to just get all this over and done with and go to Risa on a much-needed break.” 

He pressed a few buttons, before saying: “Synchronizing warp plasma flow.”

He then turned to Hermione and grinned. “Hey Granger, did you know on Risa the word ‘library’ means ‘pleasure dome’?” 

Krell snorted, and Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

“I highly doubt it,” Hermione said flatly. “Emergency life-support and damage control systems standing by.”

She finished her work at the terminal and went back to take her seat next to Harry. 

Shev winked at her flirtatiously. “Come to Risa with me and find out for yourself.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything, focused on her work. 

Shev smirked, apparently oblivious to the annoyance that was coming off her in waves. 

“Nacelles holding at pre-warp threshold,” he informed.

“Well, looks like we’re all set,” Harry said, glancing at the chronometer. “Just have to wait for Barnett to make his speech.”

“It should be happening any second,” said Hermione. “Verify the astrometric database.”

“Datasets loaded and verified,” confirmed Krell. 

Her console began to beep.

“And here it is,” she said, pressing a few buttons to bring up the image of Barnett on the viewer. 

The Academy commandant began by greeting the cadets, congratulating them on successfully completing the theoretical portion of the final exam and reaching the practical one. He then launched into a long and boring speech that usually accompanied occasions like this one—about the duties and responsibilities of Starfleet officers, the standards and values that had to be upheld. 

Harry glanced at the chronometer once more, wondering if Barnett would go overtime, but the admiral, as per usual, was punctual. 

_ “Now, as you depart,” _ Barnett said, finishing up his speech, “ _ remember that you follow the paths of some of Starfleet’s earliest explorers. Men and women dedicated to the expansion of knowledge and peace amongst worlds. Honour their memory and respect their sacrifice. And most importantly, come back safe. Barnett out.” _

The admiral’s transmission cut out and was replaced by another. 

“It’s our first clue, guys!” Krell exclaimed excitedly, bringing it up on the viewer. 

The screen fizzled and cleared, revealing an image of an oddly shaped hunk of rock that reminded Harry of a gigantic mushroom. It was obviously a geographic marker of sorts. 

“What the hell?” said Shev indignantly. “This sector contains three systems with dozens of planets, hundreds of moons and planetoids and asteroids! How exactly are we supposed to find_ that _!” he finished, pointing at the screen. 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. The mission had barely begun, and Shev was already annoying the bejesus out of him. But as a Security officer-in-training—and the acting captain, starting from now until the next leg of the mission—he had to restrain himself from hexing the Andorian. Apart from emergencies, they weren’t supposed to use their abilities during this mission, anyway. Not only because Starfleet Command wanted all the teams to have an equal chance of winning the treasure hunt and the main prize—an automatic assignment to the Bridge crew of the _ Lexington _ or any other ship of their choosing—but also because magic was something revealed only on a need-to-know basis. Naturally, the higher-ups claimed it was for Harry and Hermione’s safety.

Of course, there was still the option of physically hogtying the sod—which was a notion he was reluctantly keeping at bay . . . for now. 

Harry’s only saving grace in the whole thing was that he didn’t have to be captain for the entire mission. The position was taken in shifts for each part of the hunt, so that each team member could gain command experience. Useful, should any of them be assigned to the Bridge crew on their future starships.

“I take it a saying _ ‘Patience is a virtue’ _ doesn’t exist on Andoria?” Harry said calmly. “You’re overreacting and jumping to conclusions, Shev. I’m sure there’s more.” He turned to their communications officer. “Krell?”

“Hold on, please.”

She feverishly worked at her console for a few moments, before announcing: “There _ is _ more. Just a sec.”

She brought up a string of symbols on the viewer.

“I don’t recognize this language,” Krell confessed. “Inputting it into the translation matrix now.”

“It’s one of the languages in ancient Axanar,” Raix piped in shyly. “Nowadays it’s a written-only language, preserved solely in sacred scriptures of the Jetali monks.”

“And how would _ you _know that?” Shev questioned. 

“I’m interested in xenotheology,” Raix replied, averting his gaze as his cheeks turned bluer. “It’s a rather fascinating subject. And the Jetali monks, in particular, have a very unique outlook on life and death.”

“And so you learned their language?” Krell asked incredulously, looking up from her work. 

“Not really—the language is extremely difficult to master. I just recognized it.”

Krell hummed thoughtfully, turning back to her console. “Give me a few minutes to decipher this.”

“Take your time, but hurry up,” said Shev, looking out one of the viewports. “One of the teams is already leaving.”

“So what?” retorted Harry. “You know that each team has its own route and set of clues—and some of them will take longer to figure out than others.”

A few moments later, Krell sat up straight. 

“I got it!” she announced happily.

“What does it say?” Shev asked impatiently. 

Krell sent him a glare. “It is a set of coordinates. Plus, it has a single word that could be translated either as ‘beast’ or ‘diarrhea.’ ”

“Well,” said Harry, a wry twist to his lips, “unless someone had diarrhea that was famous enough to make it into the history books, I’m pretty sure our word is ‘beast.’ ” 

Shev crossed his arms. “And what exactly the hell is it supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t we look up the coordinates first?” suggested Harry, withholding a sigh as he began typing them in.

“Could this be a reference to the time when Captain Hernandez and her crew rescued an Axanar ship from a planetoid? I believe that took place somewhere around these coordinates,” mused Hermione, a small crease appearing on her forehead. “They’d claimed they’d been attacked by a snake-like beast and stranded there.”

“Planetoid GP-127?” asked Raix, beginning to type on his console. 

“Yeah,” confirmed Harry. “And the coordinates match exactly.” 

“Except, there’s now an asteroid field between us and that planetoid,” Shev cut in, analyzing the star charts. “But not to worry, you have one of the best pilots at the helm. I’ll get you there in a jiffy!”

“How about you get us there in one piece?” retorted Hermione. 

“No problem!”

“But why write the clue in this ancient language?” asked Krell. “Is there any significance to that?”

“There is,” confirmed Raix, consulting the information on his monitor. “Among the crew of the stranded Axanar ship was a group of Jetali monks on a pilgrimage to a several dozen protostars in the Eudana Nebula.”

“And what about this ‘beast’?” asked Krell. “What if it’s still out there?”

“The Axanar crew had claimed the beast was trying to eat them, and they ended up destroying it, sustaining heavy damage in the process,” explained Hermione. “Since then, the planetoid has been mined extensively, and no one ever encountered another one of those beasts. So it’s possible that it was the only one—at least on that planetoid.”

“I don’t think Starfleet would send us there if there was a danger of us encountering the beast,” said Raix reasonably. “They just put that in the clue to make it more clear for us where to go.”

“Agreed,” said Harry. 

He turned to the helm and ordered, “Shev, set a course for Planetoid GP-127.” 

“Course set,” Shev confirmed. 

“Take us out.”

“Airlock is sealed. Releasing docking clamps.”

As Harry watched Shev manoeuvre them out of the spacedock, he had a single thought: winning the treasure hunt would be great and all, but he’d also be plenty happy if they didn’t end up murdering each other by the end of the mission. 

* * *

“Well done, Shev. I think you managed to graze nearly every asteroid in our path,” said Harry, unstrapping himself from his seat and shakily rising to his feet. “Would you like to go back and finish the job?”

The Andorian glared at him. “I lost navigational sensors halfway through and had to rely only on my sight!”

“Which wouldn’t have happened,” snapped Hermione, “had you not executed unnecessary manoeuvres in an attempt to show off! You could have killed us all!”

“But I didn’t!”

Hermione threw him a withering glance, looking like she wanted to punch him again, and carefully stood. She looked very pale and nearly fell on her way to the rear of the cockpit to check on the consoles located there. 

“You alright?” asked Harry, concerned. 

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, bracing herself on the wall and taking a slow, deep breath. “I don’t think I felt this sick since the EV simulator at Lunaport.”

“You mean the Vomitorium?” pipped in Krell, grinning. She didn’t seem to be affected by the bumpy ride at all. “I’ve witnessed quite a few accidents there.”

Hermione groaned. “Please, spare us the details.”

“Alright, team,” said Harry, clapping his hands together and using his best ‘command’ voice. “What’s our status?”

“Thankfully, the shields have done their job,” said Hermione, having consulted her readings. “So apart from sensors that had been knocked out, we’re in good shape.”

“I recommend I stay behind and conduct repairs,” suggested Raix, “while the team goes looking for that geographic marker.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll give you a hand.”

He hadn’t thought they’d be conducting repairs this early into the mission—if at all. Hopefully, he and Raix could fix the problem relatively quickly, and prevent Shev’s little stunt from throwing a wrench into their entire mission. 

“All right, ladies,” said Shev, rubbing his hands together as he rose to his feet. “It’s time to suit up and—”

“_ Hermione _ will be in charge in my stead,” Harry spoke loudly, making it clear he didn’t want Shev taking point in this. “Find the marker and the next clue, as well as take soil samples and tricorder readings of the atmosphere and anything else you find. This is still a survey mission, no matter how it’s organized, so we still have to do our job.”

Just before Hermione, Krell, and Shev—all clad in EV suits—prepared to leave the vessel, Harry instructed, “Maintain radio contact at all times.” 

Shev scowled and Krell smiled, nodding in response. 

Hermione was the last to exit the ship. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her an apologetic look. 

“I’ll do my best not to throttle him,” she promised in response to his unspoken request. 

* * *

As it turned out, keeping her promise to Harry was a lot harder than Hermione had thought. Even though Shev had been able to land their vessel only several hundred meters away from the mushroom-rock and they didn’t have to go very far, it took them a while to reach it on foot. The terrain was very rocky and uneven. One misstep could easily cause a sprained ankle— or worse, given that some of the rocks were razor sharp. Additionally, they had to analyze the atmospheric composition, and take ample tricorder readings of everything they encountered in their path in order to get full marks for this leg of the mission. 

And Shev simply wouldn't shut up the entire time—worse, half of his blather was more attempts at flirting. 

They were only about a hundred meters away from their destination, when Krell bent over and stretched out her arm to a nearby rock, saying, “Hey there, sluggo.”

“Krell, don’t touch that!” Hermione warned. “Remember, we’re not supposed to interact with any biological life we find. Observe and scan only.”

As if to demonstrate her point, she turned her tricorder on the slug native to the planetoid and began scanning it. 

“I’m sorry,” said Krell. “I was simply curious.”

_ Curiosity killed the cat _, Hermione wanted to reply jokingly, but thought better of it—given that Krell was a Caitian, jokes like that would possibly not be well-received. 

“How much longer?” asked Shev, sounding a little put out—probably because the two women were talking to each other instead of him. 

“As long as it takes to complete the scans,” Hermione replied evenly. 

“We’ve already collected and analyzed air, soil, and rock samples. Do we really need to scan this slug? Let’s get to that marker, get the clue and head back to the ship!”

“Do I have to remind you _ yet again _, that we’re to scan everything—”

“That we encounter in our path,” finished Shev. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, I’m saying we _ could _ just say we didn’t encounter anything and—”

“Let’s _ not _,” said Hermione tersely, snapping her tricorder shut and turning away from Shev to start in the direction of the mushroom-rock once more. 

“There are more of them,” said Krell, pointing out more slugs in the terrain. “It’s really amazing that any life forms at all are able to live in this atmosphere.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, the planetoid does have a most intriguing mix of inert gases, doesn’t it?”

And they began discussing animatedly the planetoid’s atmospheric readings. Despite having communications as her speciality, Krell was rather knowledgeable in other fields as well. She’d mentioned before that her family were scientists, and growing up in such an environment had cultivated a love of learning that made her great company for Hermione. 

“You two are so weird,” muttered Shev, walking past them. “Getting all excited about inert gases.”

He reached the mushroom-rock first and found a grey case with Starfleet insignia at the foot of it. He carefully opened the case and pulled out a small, glass vial containing yellow powder of sorts, and a small box. 

“What’s this?” he asked, retrieving an oddly-shaped piece from the box. 

“It’s a piece of a jigsaw puzzle,” replied Hermione, hoping that the nostalgia in her voice wasn’t too obvious. “They’re not very common anymore.”

In fact, there was only one place she’d found them in this universe so far—a small, nondescript antique shop, tucked away on one of the quieter streets close to Academy grounds. James had taken her there shortly before the _ Enterprise _ had departed for her shakedown cruise, claiming she’d love it. And she did. It was a little bit like being transported back to the time she’d come from. 

“I can’t believe they went there,” said Krell excitedly. _ “ _They used an actual jigsaw puzzle as a clue!”

“A cumulative clue,” added Hermione, eyeballing the number of pieces in the box. “I bet we’ll have to collect a few boxes like this throughout the mission.”

“I’ve read about them,” said Krell. “We’re supposed to put the pieces together, and they’ll form a complete image—a map, perhaps?”

“Looks like it,” Hermione confirmed upon a closer look at the puzzle piece. “A map that will either be our final clue or lead us to it. I guess we’ll find out the further along we get.”

“Great,” said Shev, placing a hand on his hip and nearly dropping the glass vial he was holding. “And our next clue—”

“—is going to be lost if you break that vial,” said Hermione, holding out a hand. 

He sighed but handed the vial over. 

“Harry, how are the repairs coming along?” Hermione asked over the radio. 

_ “We’re making a lot of progress,” _ Harry replied. _ “I estimate we’ll be done in the next 30 minutes.” _

_ “That’s actually unheard of for this type of damage!” _ Raix interjected, a hint of excitement in his voice. _ “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Potter’s a magician or something.” _

Hermione stifled a laugh.

_ You have no idea, _ she thought to herself as she began packing the vial and the box back in the case. 

“We’re done here,” she said. “Heading back to the ship now.”

* * *

Back on the ship, Hermione ran an analysis of the vial.

“Our next destination is Archer IV,” she said, emerging from the makeshift lab/sickbay that was set up in the rear of the vessel.

Harry looked up from his console. “Elaborate?”

“The vial contained pollen produced by psychotropic flowers native to Archer IV—the very first planet visited by Captain Archer and the _ Enterprise _ NX-01 crew.”

“Didn’t they lose a crew member there, and that away team nearly all went insane because of this pollen?” questioned Krell. 

“The pollen is toxic and contains large amounts of tropolisine, which causes paranoia and hallucinations, yes,” confirmed Hermione. “But there’s an antidote for it now—which I will synthesize en route. So, we will all be fine.” 

“Call it, then,” said Harry. “You’re the acting captain from now and till our next departure.”

Hermione nodded and took a breath, her gut twisting uncomfortably. While some people, she knew, greatly enjoyed being in command, she wasn’t one of them. She’d take research and such over command every day. And if that were ever to change, it was apparently not happening today. 

“Shev, set a course for Archer IV.”

He grinned at her. “With pleasure.”

* * *

“So where should I set us down?” asked Shev as they approached the planet. “We can’t very well search the entire planet for our next clue.”

“We won’t have to,” replied Hermione, her hands flying over her terminal. “Although rapidly-changing weather patterns and fast-moving storms can spread the pollen to virtually anywhere on the planet, the psychotropic plant itself grows only on the Northern continent. And since we didn’t receive any additional information that might help us determine the exact location of our next clue, I’m going to go completely on a hunch here and say that it would be in close proximity to the place where the NX-01 crew first set foot on this planet.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Krell, “since they’re pretty much having us retrace the footsteps of the earliest explorers.”

“Shev, I’m sending you the coordinates now,” informed Hermione.

“Got them.”

Thankfully, no longer trying to show off, Shev smoothly piloted their vessel and set it down in the coordinates that Hermione sent him. 

“No EV suits, right boss?” asked Shev, grinning wickedly at Hermione as they prepared to leave the ship in search of the clue. 

“Don’t need them,” confirmed Hermione, collecting her medkit and her tricorder. “The atmosphere on this planet is very close to that of Earth, and we’ve all received the antidote against the pollen.”

She opened the hatch and was the first to step outside. The bright sun accosted her eyes. She blinked several times, and while she waited for her eyes to adjust, she took in the sweet scents of blooming trees and flowers that filled the air—something that reminded her of magnolias, and lilacs, and lilies of the valley. The scents were different, to be sure, not exactly what she’d been used to back on Earth. But they were close enough. 

“Well, it’s spring here,” stated Harry, gulping in a lungful of fresh air. 

“It’s beautiful,” gushed Krell, observing the luscious, green landscape. 

“Let’s not forget that we are not here to enjoy the sights,” Shev pointed out, walking past the group that took a moment to enjoy themselves. 

Hermione thought that for someone whose homeworld, by human standards, was a frozen wasteland, this would be a welcome sight. But perhaps it was the contrary—perhaps it simply didn’t register as something beautiful or refreshing _ because _ his home was so different. 

“You don’t have to be such a killjoy,” Harry quipped, but sighed and followed after him. “I know we’re on a mission, but it’s ok to stop and smell the roses every now and again. Besides that, this isn’t exactly a race—better to be thorough than fast.”

“Guys, look!” exclaimed Raix, pointing to a spot in the middle of the meadow. “I’m assuming that’s our next clue?”

There, on top of a big, white rock, sat a grey case identical to the one they’d picked up on Planetoid GP-127. 

It didn’t sit well with Hermione. The clue was practically offering itself to them on a silver platter. 

“It can’t be this easy,” she said, frowning. 

And it wasn’t. 

A moment after she finished speaking, Raix made to grab for the case. A millisecond later, Hermione felt the familiar tingle that told her that her molecules were about to be disassembled and reassembled. 

They materialized in a huge, metallic box, and Hermione immediately noticed that Harry was missing. 

_ Stay calm, you’ve gotten yourself out of worse places, _ she told herself. 

As though wanting to contradict her, the walls of the box began shrinking inward. 

Shev swallowed hard, eyeing the walls rapidly closing in on them and driving them to the centre of the box. 

“Guys,” he said, his voice slightly shaky, “is this a bad time to mention that I don’t do very well in confinement?” 


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my amazingly wonderful alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

Harry found himself beamed into a large, gravity-free arena—just like the one he’d done his Zero-G combat training in. Blocks of different shapes and sizes had been suspended randomly all throughout the arena. They would enable him to change direction mid-air, as well as provide cover, if necessary. 

Before he could analyze his surroundings further, he heard a quiet whirr and turned to see a small slot open up on one of the arena walls. A small, metallic disk—the kind usually used in the game Velocity—emerged from it, and promptly began shooting red beams at him. Harry was quick to pull out his phaser, specifically programmed to generate only non-harmful beams for the purposes of the exam, and shoot back. 

But for every disk he disabled (and his aim was true enough that he disabled a great many), more and more disks emerged to attack him. It was very similar to every firefight he’d been in—a hectic mixture of returning fire, taking cover when it was possible, and dodging like hell when it wasn’t. 

The whole thing couldn’t have lasted longer than a few minutes, by Harry’s estimate. He could have been wrong. After all, it was easy to lose track of time when you were engaged in such a fast-paced and taxing activity. 

_ “Congratulations, cadet,”  _ spoke a computerized voice.  _ “You have successfully completed the marksmanship test. Next, you will be presented with the following scenario: a Federation starship USS  _ Hamilton—Hermes _ -class, crew complement 235—has been taken over by the terrorist organization Terra Prime.”  _

_ Terra Prime? That’s an unusual choice of a scenario, _ Harry mused. 

After the destruction of Vulcan, someone had leaked information on Nero’s plans to do the same to Earth. In response, the extremist xenophobic terrorist organization Terra Prime had resurfaced—or perhaps it had never truly gone away? Thankfully, the movement wasn’t as prominent as it had been a little over a hundred years ago; cases of aggression towards non-humans were few and far between, and thus easily contained and dealt with. 

_ “The ship is currently in Earth’s orbit,”  _ continued the computer, _ “and the terrorists have taken the Bridge. Emergency protocols are activated. All turbolifts are on lockdown. Internal ship communications are disabled. All access to ship systems is restricted to only the captain’s command. The terrorists are holding the captain hostage in an attempt to obtain the command codes. They intend to use the ship to fire on all non-human embassies on Earth. Your task is to ensure that the terrorists do not succeed. You may begin now.”  _

Harry experienced the familiar feeling of being transported, and a moment later found himself standing just outside the mess hall of the ship in question. The mess hall was currently abandoned—unsurprising, given that the ship was on Red Alert. The corridors were similarly deserted, and the emergency lights lining the walls shone an eerie red. 

Keeping his weapon at the ready, Harry headed towards the nearest turbolift. All lifts were currently inoperable, which meant he’d have to use the Jefferies tubes to get to the Bridge. If his memory served him right regarding _ Hermes _ -class starships, he could access a service crawlway near the lift, and then use his tricorder to navigate his way towards the Bridge. 

Minutes later, he reached the panel that would open up just underneath the secondary communications station on the Bridge. Raised voices filtered through the panel. 

“—total degradation of mankind by encouraging human-alien relations!”

Harry recognized this voice as Commander Clark Terrell’s. He was to be the  _ Lexington _ ’s First Officer, but while the ship was still under construction, he taught xenoanthropology at the Academy. He had also served as  _ Enterprise _ ’s First Officer when Spock had taken a personal leave shortly after the vessel had left for her shakedown cruise. And apparently, his acting wasn’t half-bad. 

“If things keep going as they are now,” Terrell continued, “there won’t be any humans left! I love humanity too much to sit back and let that happen.” 

“You’re insane.”

This voice belonged to Captain Leah Mayweather. Harry was well familiar with her. Granddaughter to NX-01’s Travis Mayweather, she was one of the youngest ever to enlist in Starfleet. Unlike her grandfather, who had begun as a helmsman, she’d started off her career as a Security Officer and had faced a multitude of dangerous situations over her years of service. She was also particularly fond of history and believed that it should be carefully studied and learnt from. 

All this made her an ideal candidate to oversee the training of all future security officers at the Academy. She was directly involved in creating simulations—each and every one of them specifically designed to test a cadet’s strengths and weaknesses. Her tests were always fresh, interesting, and kept the cadets on their toes. 

If Harry’s team won this treasure hunt, they would have a choice of serving on the Bridge of  _ Lexington _ directly under Captain Mayweather’s command, as she was to be the ship’s commanding officer. 

Terrell scoffed. _ “One person’s craziness is another person’s reality.”  _

Harry rolled his eyes, beginning to carefully remove the panel. The quote was a bit much; but then, Terrell always did have a bit of a flare for the dramatic. 

There was some shuffling of feet before Terrell continued, “We merely want to return Earth to its rightful owners. We want to give Earth back to humanity, back to human beings.”

“Then you and I have nothing left to discuss,” replied Mayweather stubbornly. 

“You would risk the lives of your crew—your own people—for some aliens?”

“Those aliens, as you call them,  _ are  _ our people! And I will do whatever is necessary to protect them.”

“So will we, to achieve our goal.”

Harry’s time was up. He had to act, and he had to act fast. According to his tricorder readings, there were nineteen people on the Bridge, thirteen of them unconscious. One of the remaining six was the captain, and he had to assume that the rest were hostiles. Thankfully, there were no active biosigns in close proximity to the secondary comms station, so he finished removing the panel and prepared to jump out, guns blazing. 

The opportunity presented itself only a few seconds later, when Terrell began loudly threatening to kill off the crew one by one and make the captain watch, if she refused to disclose her command codes. 

Harry swiftly emerged from the Jefferies tube, simultaneously incapacitating two of the five hostiles. Of the remaining three, two turned their weapons on Harry, while Terrell aimed his at the captain’s temple. If he used his magic, he could easily overpower all three of them without any difficulties; but for the purposes of this test, he had to improvise. 

“Nobody move, or I’ll French fry his brains,” said Harry, his weapon trained on Terrell’s head. 

The captain’s mouth twitched slightly as she bit back a smile. She was tied to the captain’s chair, her hair and uniform slightly dishevelled—she had clearly ‘put up a fight’ in an attempt to save the Bridge, but had been unsuccessful. 

“Do that and your captain dies,” warned Terrell, pressing his phaser more firmly into Mayweather’s temple, prompting her to pretend-wince. “And then we  _ all _ die. You don’t really want to find out up close and personal what a warp core explosion looks like, do you?”

Harry furrowed his brow but didn’t move. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re wondering how your captain’s death would explode the core,” said Terrell gleefully. “An aspiring security officer would surely know what a dead man’s switch is, no? We made some modifications, of course. But the gist of it is that there’s a bomb attached to the ship’s warp core, and your captain’s beating heart is the only thing that’s stopping it from going off.” 

At this, he reached one hand to Mayweather’s wrist to tap on a bracelet of sorts.

Another variable. It was very common in all of Mayweather’s scenarios. Just when you thought you had the solution to a problem, another challenge would reveal itself, making the previous solution obsolete. 

“It is our insurance policy, if you will,” continued Terrell, “against overzealous security officers like you. Your job is to save as many lives as you can—at any cost. Isn’t that right? Do you really want to be directly responsible for the death of the other 234 members of this crew? We get the codes, and you can all safely leave this ship—everyone gets what they want. Now, lower your weapon.”

“Don’t do it, Potter!” shouted Mayweather, fighting against her restraints. “We can’t let the ship fall into his hands!”

“Do be quiet,  _ ma’am _ ,” warned Terrell. “For everyone’s sake.” 

Mayweather did fall silent, but kept mouthing to Harry:  _ “Shoot me.” _

Sure, the objective of the test was not to let the terrorists fire on all non-human embassies down on Earth, but there had to be a better way than blowing up the vessel—even though protocol demanded that in the event of a hostile takeover of the ship, all steps must be taken to ensure the safety of Federation citizens, including self-destruct of said ship. 

Harry took a slow breath and considered his options. One of the best assets of a security officer was speed, and theoretically, Harry could take out Terrell before he had the chance to shoot the captain—he’d just need a better angle. He began to slowly inch his way towards the helm, thinking what to do with the other two hostiles who currently had their weapons trained on him. He might be able to incapacitate one of them before he himself went down, but what to do with the second?

The answer presented itself a moment later. 

Terrell, his gaze still trained on Harry and his phaser on the captain’s head, called to one of his lackeys: “Klatecki, would you care to demonstrate our resolve to Mr Potter?”

Klatecki, a second-year cadet of the Security division, gave a stiff nod and replied, “Certainly, sir.” 

Harry remembered him from previous training exercises—junior cadets regularly volunteered to help with the simulations. 

Klatecki swiftly turned his weapon on a form lying unconscious about two feet to his left.

_ Good try, but pointless, _ Harry thought smugly, upon registering that the figure belonged to a woman, currently with her back to him, who looked _ a lot _ like Hermione—same slight figure, same mess of riotous, brown curls. She was obviously placed there to put him off balance. 

Harry knew this was just a test, and the real Hermione wasn’t there on the Bridge.

Not for the first time, he was grateful that the  _ Kobayashi Maru  _ test was currently the only one that employed Hermione’s potion which made the cadets temporarily forget that they were in a simulation. He’d witnessed numerous command track students crumbling under the pressure, or crying and even vomiting outside the simulator once the test was over. Some of them even ended up changing their specialities, realizing that command wasn’t for them. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, Harry took aim and swiftly shot Terrell in the hand, making him drop his weapon, and then fired at his chest, incapacitating him. At the same time, Harry had to move away from the second hostile’s phaser fire, ducking behind the helm. He emerged a moment later to take him out and turned his weapon on Klatecki and dropped him too. 

But he was too late to save Hermione’s decoy. Klatecki had already shot her. 

Still, the simulation had ended. The lights turned on to normal brightness, and the Red Alert shut off. All the ‘unconscious’ people began rising to their feet—some with small groans, depending on how their bodies had fallen. 

“Great performance, Potter,” said Mayweather as one of the junior cadets rushed to help her remove her restraints. 

“I think I particularly liked the part where you threatened to French fry my brains,” piped in Terrell, grinning. 

“Great performance on your parts too, ma’am, sir,” said Harry. “Very believable. If one day you decide to retire from Starfleet and become actors, you’d do great.”

The captain laughed. “I’m sure my grandfather would turn over in his grave if that ever happened.” 

She rose to her feet, smoothing down her hair and straightening her uniform. “Regrettably, we lost one member of the crew,” she said, her expression turning serious, “but the remaining 234 are safe and sound, and so are the thousands on the planet’s surface.”

The ‘dead’ crew member was also on her feet, smiling at Harry as she removed a wristband that was commonly used during simulations to emit waves to confuse tricorder readings and register life signs as ‘unconscious.’ She then proceeded to remove the wig that made her hair look like Hermione’s. The woman herself looked  _ nothing _ like his friend. 

_ “The needs of the many,  _ ma’am _ ,” _ said Harry, turning his attention back to the captain. 

_ “Outweigh the needs of the few,” _ Mayweather finished approvingly, taking a step towards him. “Good to see that you kept your head and didn’t get distracted by a familiar sight,” she said, indicating the woman who’d pretended to be Hermione. 

Harry nodded but didn’t say anything. 

What could he say to that anyway? That he was happy this was only a test, and therefore making the decision had been easy? That he wasn’t quite sure he would have done the same had the scenario been real? 

_ Had the scenario been real, I’d use my magic and not gamble with Hermione’s life in the first place _ , he reminded himself. 

“You should know, Potter,” said the captain, clasping her hands behind her back, “that only about 25% of cadets attempt what you’ve done here—even fewer actually succeed. Most don’t have your speed and accuracy and opt to shoot the captain, thereby blowing up the ship. But at least they save the embassies, which is the primary goal here.

“We’ll do a detailed performance review back at the Academy, but for now . . .”

One of the junior cadets brought a small box of puzzle pieces to Mayweather, which she handed to Harry, saying: “Good luck on the rest of your exam.”

“Thank you, captain.”

* * *

Hermione got a strong urge to grab her teammates and Apparate back to their ship, but she willed herself to stay put—even when there were only a couple of meters left between her and the wall. 

_ Stay calm _ , she told herself once more. 

Not only did she and Harry have orders not to expose their magic just to anyone, but there were also other factors to consider. For example, how far from their ship had they been transported, and would she be able to Apparate them all back safely, without splinching? She’d only ever side-along Apparated with two people at most before. Currently, the number of people was higher—and so were the odds of getting splinched. 

“Stay calm,” she said out loud, taking a deep, slow breath. She wasn’t overly fond of tight spaces but could handle them much better than heights. “It’s just another test.” 

“You’re right,” agreed Krell, her voice slightly shaky. “They wouldn’t deliberately hurt us. Would they?”

There was a slight hint of doubt in Krell’s voice, and Hermione wanted to reassure her. 

“Where’s Potter?” interjected Raix. 

“He’s most likely being tested on his skills as a Security Officer,” replied Hermione, doing her best to suppress her worry even as she wondered what exactly Harry was facing at the moment. “We were warned that we might be pulled away from the group at any moment to be tested on our individual strengths and weaknesses.” 

It appeared that Shev’s weakness was being tested right then and there. The Andorian had collapsed on his hands and knees, shaking violently, his antennae nearly folded in on themselves. He was breathing fast, and a sheen of sweat was rapidly forming on his face and neck. 

“How do we stop this?” asked Krell, nodding in the direction of the walls that were now only about two feet away. 

As if in response to her question, a computerized voice spoke up:  _ “Greetings, cadets. You will now answer a series of questions. Provide correct answers, and you may proceed to the next stage of your mission.” _

“Great,” said Krell. “Get on with it then!” 

_ “What is the primary reactive agent in a phenobian cryo-globin antidote?” _

“Phenylionictriazide-34!” Hermione replied.

_ “Correct,” _ the computer confirmed, and the walls retreated slightly.

Hermione took the opportunity to kneel beside Shev to analyze his condition. 

She was no specialist when it came to Andorians, but she knew enough about their general physiology and could easily recognize a panic attack when she saw one. She also knew that different people handled panic attacks differently, and what helped one person overcome them had the opposite effect on another—there was no way to know unless she was well-familiar with the individual. And she barely knew Shev. Generally though, the quickest way to decrease the anxiety was to either remove the person from the situation that had caused the panic attack, or to remove the cause itself—and both options were rather problematic at the moment. 

As the computer kept bombarding them with questions from different fields—the walls retreating with every correct answer and advancing with every incorrect one—Hermione put her hand on Shev’s shoulder and did her best to reassure him that they were not in any real danger and to remind him to breathe. She also pulled a small heat pack out of her medkit and flexed the metal activator inside to start the heating process. She then placed the bag on the back on Shev’s neck to give him something else to focus on other than fear and panic. She’d tried the ice pack first, thinking that the cold might be more familiar and offer some comfort, given that his home planet was an ice world—but it’d had the opposite effect. The heat bag seemed to work much better. 

At one point, some small, ungenerous part of her had been briefly tempted to slap him hard across the face. In theory, it would make him angry, and pain and fury would get him to temporarily forget about freaking out. And if not, then at least Hermione would get the satisfaction of slapping him. But such behaviour would be highly unprofessional, and she decided not to resort to it unless there was no other way. As annoying as Shev was, it was still Hermione’s duty as the mission’s medical specialist to look after him. And she wasn’t about to let her personal feelings get in the way. 

_ “What is the threshold of the H2 molecule?”  _ the computer continued. 

“14.7 electron volts,” answered Raix. 

_ “Correct. What is the Vulcan word for ‘Star’?” _

_ “Yel!” _ said Krell. 

_ “Correct. What was the combined number of fatalities for Federation and Romulan forces during the battle of Tarnu?” _

“Sixty-one,” replied Hermione, doing quick math. 

_ “Correct. Calculate the intermix ratio necessary to reach a starbase fifteen light-years away at warp factor five, if the matter and antimatter tanks on a  _ Constitution _ -class starship are nine-tenths depleted.” _

“That’s a trick question,” said Raix. “There is only one ratio with matter-antimatter—1:1.”

_ “Correct.” _

Dozens of questions later, the computer finally let out a series of beeps and said,  _ “Final score is 1,394. Congratulations, cadets. You may now proceed to the next stage of your mission _ — _ the survey of Archer IV. A map of the area that we require you to survey has been sent to your PADDs.” _

Immediately everyone’s devices let out a chime, alerting them of the incoming data. Hermione quickly glanced at the map, noting that the area was roughly 100 square meters—not huge, but considering the diverse flora and fauna on this planet, the task might take a while. 

“ _ You have only 2 hours allotted to this task,”  _ continued the computer. _ “Once the time elapsed, you must depart promptly, otherwise points will be subtracted. You may begin now.” _

Hermione once more experienced the familiar feeling of being transported, and a moment later found herself and her team once more in the meadow by the rock with the case. 

Shev immediately rose to his feet and stumbled towards their vessel. 

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Harry, nodding in Shev’s direction. He had materialized on the meadow seconds after the rest of the team, a small box of puzzle pieces in his hand. “He looks like hell.”

“Panic attack,” replied Hermione, taking her friend in and trying to gauge his state. 

Harry must have picked up on her probing gaze. 

“I’m fine,” he said, stuffing the box into his pocket and pulling out his tricorder. “I’ll tell you everything once we’re done here. Clock’s ticking.”

Hermione nodded, but it didn’t feel right to just leave Shev there all by himself. Given that she was currently the acting captain, it fell to her to handle the situation.

_ What would James do? _ she asked herself.

Unless it was a life or death situation and he absolutely could not spare a moment, James would take the time to reassure a crewmember in distress. He wouldn’t just leave him all alone. 

Her mind made up, Hermione started after Shev. 

“I’ll be right back,” she told the rest of her team. 

She found Shev on the floor by the environmental controls terminal, his knees brought up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. 

He barely looked up when she walked in. 

“What, I can’t even get a minute alone around here?” he asked bitingly. 

Gone was his flirtatious personality. It was replaced by an acerbic grumpiness that likely originated from some mixture of anger and embarrassment. 

“I’ll leave you in a moment,” she replied calmly, letting his comment roll off her shoulders. “But first . . .” she trailed off, heading for one of the storage compartments she’d personally stocked shortly before the mission. 

She pulled out a bottle of water and a couple of necreena bars—a snack favoured among Andorians for those times when one needed a quick energy boost. 

“Panic attacks are energy-consuming and usually leave you jittery and tired,” she explained. “It’s more so true for you because Andorians have a higher metabolic rate than us humans.”

She sat on her haunches in front of him and held out the water and the necreena bars. “This should help.”

Shev stared at her uncomprehendingly, before turning away. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he growled. 

Hermione sighed. 

_ This might be harder than I thought.  _

“As your doctor on duty for this mission—” she began. 

“Doctor- _ in-training _ ,” he corrected acidly. 

“That’s true,” agreed Hermione. “I won’t get my doctorate for a few more years, but that doesn’t mean I’m not qualified to help you.”

“What makes you think I  _ want _ your help?” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. If he was trying to insult her, he’d have to work a lot harder than that. 

“Plus,” she continued firmly, not dignifying his latest question with an answer, “I’m currently your captain, which means that I actually  _ do  _ get to tell you what to do. And I’m _ telling _ you to keep up your strength.  _ Now _ .”

Hermione held out the items in her hands more insistently. 

“We’re not even halfway through the mission,” she said, “and we need everyone to perform the best they can. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the team.”

After a stilted moment, Shev sighed and took the proffered items. 

She forced a smile, rising to her feet. “Wonderful. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get yourself together. After that I want you outside and helping us with the survey,” she finished, leaving no room for arguments. 

She was nearly outside when Shev called after her. 

“Hey, Granger?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what he was thanking her for. The water and the snacks? For finally leaving him alone? For not responding in kind to his biting remarks? 

In the end, it didn’t really matter. She’d done what she came here to do, and with a small nod in response, she exited the vessel. 


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my amazingly wonderful alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

Shev obediently emerged from the vessel fifteen minutes later to help the team with the survey. Once the allotted time was up, he smoothly piloted the ship into orbit, where they deciphered the clue they got on the surface of the planet. It revealed their next destination to be Orillia V. 

It was an unwritten rule in Starfleet that a person should sleep and eat when the opportunity presented itself, since routine was never a guarantee. And so the cadets, given that it would take them a little over eight hours to get to their next destination, followed this rule religiously, taking turns sleeping and eating.

Everything went rather smoothly on Orillia V—and after that on Lelas, one of the moons in the Senydra system. Krell and Raix, who’d been pulled away from the group for individual testing at these sites, had bravely faced their challenges and passed their tests. 

Before too long, they were en route to their final destination—Kesla Prime. They’d been allotted one hundred and twenty hours (or five standard days) for the entire mission, and were so far running a bit ahead of schedule. 

On Kesla Prime, things went a little differently—the area-specific survey took place before any of the challenges. After that, Hermione had been transported away from the group for her own test, while Krell received an encrypted message that she was to unravel in order to find out where they were to go next. 

Hermione reappeared only ten minutes later, and Harry right away knew that something had gone wrong. She stormed past the waiting team, muttering something under her breath. 

“Hermione?” Harry jumped to his feet and went after her. 

“The goal is  _ always _ to save the patient!” he heard her say heatedly as he drew closer. 

“Hermione,” he said, placing both hands on her shoulders and turning her around to look at him. “What happened in there?”

“I messed up!” she snapped. “That’s what happened!”

The rest of their group made their way towards them, while she tried to calm herself. 

“I don’t know what—I just couldn’t—I’m so sorry!” she babbled, tears springing to her eyes. 

Harry pulled her to his chest, hiding her tears—Hermione wouldn't want the others to see them. 

“Whatever you did, it can’t be that bad,” he said, awkwardly rubbing soothing circles on her back. “This is all just an exam, remember?”

On second thought, trivializing the exam in an attempt to calm someone who took them very seriously might not have been the best idea, but it seemed to work alright. Hermione took a shuddering breath, quickly swiped at her tears, and pulled away. She then took another deep, slow breath and turned to face the others, who’d been looking at her expectantly. 

“I was presented with a subject,” she began, “an approximately forty-year-old Boslic male, who was hemorrhaging internally from severe trauma to the upper abdomen. He had only about two minutes to live.”

Krell looked up from her PADD. “It was all hypothetical, right?” she asked, her bulbous yellow eyes wide.

“Of course, it was,” said Shev, throwing her an incredulous look. “Go on, Granger.”

“My task,” Hermione continued, “was to determine the appropriate surgical response, and to contain as much of the bleeding as possible before the patient ‘expired.’ ” 

She made a face and began speaking very fast. “I know it was all only hypothetical, and I should have simply followed the instructions to a tee, but . . . I used cold saline in order to drop the patient’s body temperature below 27 degrees celsius, lowering his need for oxygen. Reducing the damage to the brain and all vital organs.” Her voice rose with every word she spoke. “My patient would be alive for longer than two minutes, which would give me the time to not only to stop the internal bleeding but to also save his life!”

She turned away kicked the grass. “And the examiner tells me,  _ ‘You have failed to stop the hemorrhaging within the two minutes allotted. The goal of the exercise was to evaluate your surgical abilities in a crisis situation, not save the patient.’ _ ” She turned back to their team, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “The goal is  _ always _ to save the patient!” 

“I don’t think you’d find any argument here,” Harry said reasonably, and threw a challenging look to the rest of their group. 

It was clear to him that this was another one of Starfleet’s no-win scenarios. That the subject’s wounds were fatal and he was never meant to survive. The scenario was meant to test not so much the cadets’  _ surgical abilities _ , as it was to evaluate their response to losing a patient. It was no surprise to Harry that Hermione the overachiever, who held failure as one of her greatest fears, would consider losing a patient—even if a hypothetical—as just that. A failure. To her, it was unacceptable. 

Not only that, but she had magic, which meant she had the ability to save lives in situations where others might fail. Magic had its limits, of course. But in this situation, had the scenario been real, Harry had no doubt Hermione would have succeeded. 

And not that Harry wanted to make any excuses, but it appeared that Hermione’s exhaustion was really getting to her. Having her individual test administered days into their journey had not done her any favours. She was burning out and slipping up, reacting on instinct. 

“It’s just a test,” said Raix, shrugging his shoulders, and then added, as if reading Harry’s mind: “If it were real, your patient would most likely have lived.”

“Yeah,” agreed Shev, nodding enthusiastically. “So what if your first instinct was to actually _ save _ the patient instead of just showing off your skills? It’s a good thing, if you ask me.”

“I failed,” Hermione whispered miserably. 

A memory surfaced in Harry’s brain. In the DADA exam at the end of their third year at Hogwarts—Professor Lupin’s obstacle course—one of the tasks had been to climb into an old trunk and battle with a Boggart. Hermione had come out of the trunk screaming. Apparently, her Boggart had been Professor McGonagall telling her she’d failed all her classes. Harry wondered, briefly, what her Boggart would be now, after everything they’d gone through. He doubted it would be still a fear of failing academically. Maybe it would be a failure that resulted in worse than a splash of red ink?

“Because it was a stupid test,” said Krell. “Who puts the  _ evaluation _ of surgical skills over a patient’s life? Ridiculous.”

“I agree,” said Harry. 

“You did everything right,” Shev said encouragingly. 

“I didn’t get the remaining puzzle pieces!” protested Hermione. “I’m letting you all down!”

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “We still have some time left. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“How?”

“Well,” cut in Krell, “we can start off by going to Kelana II.”

When they all came to attention, she elaborated. 

“I just finished decrypting the message. It revealed a set of coordinates that indicate our final destination to be Kelana II. I’m guessing the purpose of our cumulative clue is to help us find the exact location on that planet much faster, but as it is, we’ll have to work a little harder. I mean, most of the puzzle is already assembled,” she added quickly. “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it.” 

Shev and Raix both agreed. 

It was rather surprising to Harry how far their team had come in the span of the past four days. At the beginning of the mission, he’d been rather concerned that there might be some inter-team homicide by the end of it all. But things had turned out better than expected. While Raix and Krell had never been particularly difficult to get along with, Shev was a real piece of work. But something seemed to have changed in him after his panic attack on Archer IV. While still not exactly pleasant, he was definitely a lot more tolerable to be around. And he was making a real effort to be nicer—and more focused on the important things. 

Even now, Shev quickly glanced at the coordinates on Krell’s PADD and copied them into his own.

“It should take us five hours at maximum warp to get to Kelana II,” he declared helpfully, having made some quick calculations. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” said Harry, heading for their vessel.

When the vessel was about to clear the planet’s atmosphere, Shev said, looking over his shoulder at Hermione: “Don’t worry, Granger. We can still win this thing.” 

“We didn’t just lose the puzzle pieces, Shev,” she pointed out grumpily, still mad at herself. “We lost some points, too.” 

“So what?” he shrugged. “As long as we win the treasure hunt, the points won’t matter  _ as _ much.” 

“Actually, about the points,” Krell cut in, her expression brightening as she read the incoming message on her console. “I just received a transmission from Starfleet Academy command centre at Starbase 5. It says,  _ ‘After further review and debate, the Academy Medical Board ruled the test parameters were insufficient to appropriately test Cadet Granger’s skills. The fact that her subject technically never died allowed the Board to award her full credit based on ‘Creative measures devoted to the sanctity of life.’ _ ”

“Sanctity of life, eh?” repeated Shev, smirking. 

“And here are the puzzle pieces!” said Harry, rising to his feet to pick up a small box that had just materialized on the middle of the floor in the cockpit. “Cheer up, Hermione.” 

Hermione exhaled, relieved—but not as happy as Harry thought she’d be. 

“Let’s just get to Kelana II and finish this thing.”

“Aye-aye, Miss Sanctity of Life!”

“Just shut up and fly, Shev.”

* * *

Two hours into their trip to Kelana II, Krell suddenly turned to Shev. 

“I’m picking up a distress call!” she exclaimed, one hand pressed to the transceiver in her ear. 

Shev, who by virtue of the alphabet was their final acting captain, asked, “From who?”

“A Denobulan medical ship  _ Barzai. _ Their warp core lost containment, and they had to eject it. The aft of their ship suffered major damage, life support is failing. They think they might have hit a space mine.”

“A space mine?” Shev repeated, his tone doubtful. “In _ this _ sector?”

“It’s likely just a part of the exam,” said Hermione. 

“That’s right,” agreed Harry. “They probably want to see what we’ll do. Are we going to ignore them because we have an exam to finish on time, or are we going to go and investigate and render assistance—as true members of Starfleet would do?”

Shev hesitated for a split second, before turning to Hermione. “Granger, do we have the coordinates?”

“Sending them to you now,” she replied, having consulted her instrumentation. “We’ll be taken way off course.”

Shev made a face and let out an unhappy sigh. “Setting a new course now. ETA to the destination is . . . 2 hours 18 minutes.”

The next two hours turned out to be some of the longest, most nerve-wracking, most boring of Hermione’s life. The distress call had thrown a monkey wrench into the last stretch of their mission and put the whole crew on edge. They were all eager to get to Kelana II and finish—no one was all too happy about this new scenario being pushed at them by the Academy just before the end.

No one said much during that time, and the only speech heard throughout the cockpit related exclusively to mission updates, log entries, and the occasional question about the status of one of the ship’s systems. 

Until their vessel abruptly came out of warp. 

Hermione, who’d been checking the environmental controls at the back of the cockpit moments previously, flew backwards and hit the terminal behind, getting the wind knocked out of her. Another jolt of the vessel threw her violently on the floor, and she was barely able to avoid hitting it face first. A sharp pain radiated from her elbows that she’d braced herself on and down to her fingertips. Spots filled her vision as she tried to catch her breath and hang on to consciousness. 

“Hermione!” she heard Harry shout over the blaring alarm and the ringing in her ears, and saw him hastily unstrapping his seatbelt to rush to her side.

But she stopped him with the rise of her hand. 

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

But he must have heard her—or at the very least, understood her. Even though it was clear Harry didn’t believe her for a moment, Hermione was grateful that he decided to let it go for the time being in favour of addressing whatever emergency they were currently dealing with. 

Hermione took a moment to compose herself, then unsteadily rose to her feet, wincing. One of her hands gingerly touched the back of her head and came away bloody. 

“Vectored exhaust controls malfunctioning!” said Shev. 

“Deflector dish is offline,” informed Harry. 

“Comms are down,” added Krell. 

“The engines are overloading!” shouted Raix. 

“Full stop! Shut off the deuterium flow!” ordered Shev. 

“Deuterium flow is sealed,” Raix confirmed.

“I’m purging primary fuel intake manifolds,” said Shev. 

When the ship ceased trembling, and they were no longer in danger of blowing up, Harry turned to his teammates. “What the bloody hell just happened?”

“Please, don’t tell me it’s a space mine,” said Krell. “Like, a  _ real  _ one.” 

“Not a space mine,” said Hermione, carefully taking a seat at her console and consulting the readings. “At least, not according to the sensors.” 

“Then what was it?” asked Shev tersely.

Hermione closed her eyes against nausea turning her stomach and took a slow breath. 

“I’ll let you know as soon as I find the answer to that question,” she said, conveying as much of her annoyance as she could through her voice. 

Thirty minutes later, Harry and Raix emerged from the engineering compartment, where they’d gone in to check on the systems. To say that they were baffled would be an understatement. 

“Everything seems to be functioning optimally,” reported Raix. “We don’t know why we suddenly came out of warp.”

“I know,” Shev gritted out in frustration. “There doesn’t seem to be any good reason why several of our systems malfunctioned simultaneously—and now seem to be working perfectly fine.”

“Should we just be on our way then?” suggested Harry. “We haven’t the time to spend figuring this out, do we?” 

“I’m picking up something strange on the sensors,” cut in Hermione, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach—and it had nothing to do with nausea she was feeling after hitting her head. 

Shev turned to her, his interest piqued. 

“What is it?” he asked, his tone hopeful that they could perhaps finally get an answer to this riddle. 

“I’m not sure. At first, I thought it was a sensor malfunction, but now I don’t think so. Take a look.”

Hermione brought up an image on the viewscreen. “It keeps shifting, but it’s currently off our port bow—an area of unusual blackness. It appears, disappears, and then reappears. There’s no predictable pattern, no sequence.”

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” said Krell, squinting. 

“Neither do I,” said Shev. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard, Granger?”

“I’m not seeing things! It’s right . . . it  _ was  _ right there. It must have shifted again.”

She worked feverishly at her console for a few moments, then brought up another image. 

“Magnifying section 284,” she said, and then pointed at the screen. “There it is!”

“I see it!” confirmed Krell. “It’s like . . . a hole in space.”

“A wormhole?” asked Shev. 

“I don’t think so,” replied Hermione. “The sensors indicate nothing.”

“Nothing?” echoed Raix. “Do you mean it’s empty of matter? There’s always some energy form at work.”

“The sensors are showing this to be the absence of  _ everything _ ,” insisted Hermione. “It is a void without matter or energy of any kind.”

“Yet, this . . . hole has a form,” pointed out Harry. “It has height, width . . .”

“Perhaps,” agreed Hermione. “Perhaps not.”

“That’s hardly a scientific observation, Granger,” said Shev.

He said it matter-of-factly, but there was also something biting to his comment. 

Hermione didn’t fail to pick up on it. She crossed her arms and swivelled in her chair to meet Shev’s gaze steadily. 

“The most elementary and valuable statement in science,” she said, “the beginning of wisdom is,  _ ‘I don’t know.’ _ I don’t  _ know  _ what  _ that  _ is,” she finished, pointing at the screen. 

“Look,” Harry cut in hastily, “if this were any ordinary kind of hole in space, wouldn’t we be able to see what’s behind it?” 

Hermione turned thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Theoretically, yes.”

“Then I say we go around it,” said Shev. “Who knows what that is? And we’re on too tight a schedule to stick around and find out. Krell, inform Starfleet about this . . . thing. We’ll also make a mention of it in our logs; they can send someone else—a science vessel, perhaps, with better sensors than us—to investigate.”

“I concur,” said Raix. 

Everyone else agreed too, and Shev made to resume course to the  _ Barzai. _

“I can’t engage the warp drive,” he said, puzzled. 

“Did you prime the fuel intake manifolds, after you purged them?” asked Harry. 

Shev gritted his teeth and answered, “I have now.”

But moments before he engaged the warp drive, alarm bells went off in Hermione’s head. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something didn’t _ feel _ right. Her gaze shifted to the viewscreen, as if drawn by a magnet, and what she saw there—something pitch black and smoke-like—sent shivers down her spine. 

“What the—” began Harry, apparently also spotting what she had. 

“Granger, did you do this?” asked Shev, turning his gaze to Hermione. 

“It wasn’t me,” Hermione slowly, her brow furrowed. 

“What’s happened?” interjected Krell, scratching behind one of her ears.

Hermione shook her head carefully, her eyes never leaving her instrumentation. “Whatever this void is, we seem to be inside it.”

“But how?” asked Raix, a hint of fear in his voice. “We didn’t move.”

“Only one possible answer,” said Harry. “ _ It  _ moved. It enveloped us.”

Hermione nodded in confirmation. “There doesn’t appear to be any immediate threat to us, or to our ship.”

She found Harry’s gaze and gave him a meaningful look—a silent question:  _ Do you feel it? _

Harry offered a small, almost imperceptible nod in response:  _ Yes, I do. _

“We have no communications outside the void,” said Krell, removing the transceiver from her ear and placing it on her console with more force than was strictly necessary. “Has anyone heard of any occurrence even vaguely similar to this?” 

Everyone promptly shook their heads, and silence settled in the cockpit. It was interrupted only by the beeping of the instrumentation and Hermione’s taps on her console. 

“Granger?” prompted Shev a few minutes later, his antennae moving faster than usual, indicating his impatience. “Care to share your thoughts with the group?”

Hermione bit her lower lip and exhaled before responding: “It’s difficult to make a judgement based on the absence of information.”

“Speculate?” said Harry, trying to do the thing that the two of them often did when confronted with a problem they didn’t have a solution to. The right answer often revealed itself when one of them asked the right question. 

“According to the sensors, this void has a total lack of dimension,” said Hermione. “Therefore, by any accepted standards, it doesn’t exist. Yet, being within it denies that conclusion,” she finished, giving him a pointed look that she knew he would know the meaning of—whatever they were dealing with was quite possibly magical. 

In all the time that Hermione and Harry had spent in this new universe, they’d never come across anyone or anything magical. Sure, thanks to Will’s computer program and the  _ Tsiolkovsky _ ’s strictly classified mission (it was a science vessel that had been specifically assigned by Admiral Marcus to seek out magical plants, creatures, and hopefully people) they now had several plants growing in the special greenhouse close to the Academy grounds. But the plants weren’t exactly what they were used to; not strictly magical—or magical in a way they didn’t yet know. Still, they were close enough substitutes and could be successfully used to make some of their potions. 

The point was: the unfamiliarity of this world’s pseudo-magic only made possible encounters with it all the more potentially dangerous. 

“Is it possible our sensors are malfunctioning?” asked Krell. 

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen no indication of glitching or inconsistency.”

_ “Could we somehow have moved into another dimension?” _ asked Raix over the intercom. He’d gone back down to the engineering compartment to run more thorough scans on the systems. 

Hermione began twirling a lock of hair, her mind churning as she contemplated the question. “Could a lack of dimension be another dimension in itself?”

“That’s an interesting question,” said Krell, rubbing her hands together. 

“Yeah,” interrupted Shev, “for a later discussion. For now, let’s get ourselves out of here.”

“Good idea,” agreed Harry. 

Hermione made herself focus. She quite possibly had a concussion from her recent encounter with the wall and would have to check for a serious brain injury when she had a few moments. For now, they needed to get out of this void. Whatever it was, magical or not, it felt . . . dark. 

“I’m reversing direction,” said Shev. “Maximum warp.”

Everyone kept an eye on the view screen, hoping to see the stars churning by soon. But minute after endless minute went by, and there was still nothing but black smoke. 

“Our engines have engaged, haven’t they?” asked Krell, baffled. 

_ “Affirmative,”  _ confirmed Raix. 

“Engines are operating normally,” added Harry. 

“We should be seeing something other than _ this _ ,” Shev said unhappily, one hand moving in a sweeping motion towards the viewscreen. “Granger, can you confirm the distance travelled? Inertial guidance is showing 0.75 light-years.”

“Confirmed,” replied Hermione. “That’s what my readings say, too.”

Five hours later, the team was still no closer to getting out of the void, no matter what they did, which direction they travelled and at what speed.

Hermione sighed tiredly. “We need a fixed point of reference to confirm speed and distance,” she said, inwardly berating herself for not thinking of this sooner. “I suggest we deploy one of the portable emergency distress beacons and monitor it.”

“Do it,” agreed Shev. “Lock onto the beacon, and I’ll keep it dead astern.”

The beacon was deployed, and they moved steadily away from it. At one point, they’d gotten so far away that they’d lost the signal . . . But then they picked up the same signal once more. 

They’d travelled a full circle. 

“Great,” said Harry. “We’ve been travelling in circles all this time.”

_ Like insects stuck inside my beaded bag,  _ Hermione thought absently, reminded of an Undetectable Extension Charm.

_ “A very apt observation, Hermione Granger,” _ said a deep, disembodied—almost mechanical—voice. 

Hermione started, goosebumps erupting throughout her whole body. 

“What was that?” she asked, searching for the source of the voice. 

She hadn’t imagined it, had she? 

“You all heard it too, right? Where’s the voice coming from?” 

Hermione got her answer a moment later, when a gigantic humanoid face with large eyes appeared on the viewscreen. Whatever the creature was, it had a bluish complexion and warped appearance, as if it was pressing its ‘face’ against the view screen.

Hermione felt like everything inside her body was sinking all at once. As if she went completely cold and hot at the same time. She could hardly breathe. 

Krell screamed. 


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my amazing alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

As her ears stopped ringing, Hermione became aware of a stream of muttered swears coming from Shev. She forced herself to take a deep, painful breath, and turned her attention to Krell. The Caitian was trembling, her hands firmly over her ears. She’d stopped screaming, her breathing erratic from the pain she was in—and potentially, fear. 

_ “Guys, what’s going on up there?” _asked Raix over the intercom, concern evident in his voice. 

Hermione, somewhat at a loss as to how she could help Krell, began rummaging in her medkit. The other woman peeled one hand away from her ear to place it over Hermione’s forearm. 

“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly. “The pain is subsiding. I’ll be okay.” 

_ “Why are you all so alarmed when I’ve gone through such trouble to look just like you?” _asked the creature in the viewscreen. 

Hermione offered Krell a small nod and, doing her best to shake the feeling of dread that had come over her, turned her attention to her terminal. 

“You all might be interested to know that the sensors are registering nothing out there,” she informed, keeping her voice steady as her gaze flicked between the viewscreen and the sensor readings. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Sure is a very creepy ‘nothing,’ ” muttered Harry. 

Shev hesitantly rose to his feet and cleared his throat. As their current acting captain, it fell to him to handle the situation and treat it as a first contact. 

“I am Shev Ek’Noor of the Starfleet cadetship A-259,” he said. “Can you identify whoever or whatever you are?”

_ “Nagilum*!” _ replied the creature, blinking its disproportionately large ‘eyes’ and stretching its ‘lips’ into a very unsettling smile. 

Harry leaned towards Hermione and whispered, “Speaks right up for something your sensors say isn’t there.” 

“We represent the United Federation of Planets,” continued Shev, his gaze glued to the viewscreen. “Who or what do _ you _represent?”

_ “Hermione Granger, Harry Potter,” _ said Nagillum, ignoring the Andorian. _ “You are different from the others.” _

“Well, yeah,” said Harry. “We are a different species.”

_ “That is not what I meant.” _

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry. Was it possible that this _ thing _knew about them? About their abilities? 

Very possible, considering it knew their names, and was apparently capable of conjuring up a loop of space to trap them in. It was obviously powerful. Putting up her Occlumency shields, Hermione stared right back at the creature, her gaze unwavering. 

_ If it’s anything like Amerisis and her people, Occlumency won’t work, _Hermione reminded herself. 

But it was worth a try anyway. 

“Guys, what’s going . . .” 

Raix, who’d received no response to his inquiries over the comm line, had finally had enough and emerged from the engineering compartment. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the image on the viewscreen. 

_ “You are the same colour as Shev Ek’Noor,” _ noted Nagilum, its gaze moving from Raix to Shev and back. 

“Very_ similar _,” corrected Shev. “He’s Bolian, and I’m Andorian.”

_ “And you,” _ said Nagillum, studying Hermione and Harry once more, gaze zeroing in on the former, _ “even though you are of the same species and abilities, you are of different construction.” _

Hermione gasped, feeling like someone had punched her in the stomach. She was suddenly thrust into the air and floated parallel to the vessel’s floor, unable to move. It felt as though a million white-hot needles were piercing her body, no part of it left free from the sensation. It was impossible to breathe. A scream tore through her like a great shard of glass and pain scattered her focus; she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to think of escape—only count the excruciatingly long seconds as they ripped through her. 

“Hermione!” shouted Harry, grabbing her by the hand. 

His touch had somehow broken the spell, and Harry was able to bring her back down with little to no resistance from whatever had kept her in place. Hermione promptly collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath.

_ What _ was _ that? _ she thought, trying hard to collect her scattered thoughts. _ It felt almost as bad as the Cruciatus Curse. _

_ “Please, explain your construction,” _ordered Nagilum in that same mechanical voice.

“Construction?” Harry repeated snappishly. “What bloody construction?”

Still somewhat disoriented, Hermione winced and placed her hand on her stomach, some part of her wondering why everything sounded far away and muffled. Harry’s grip tightened on her shoulder. 

“Oh, I think I know!” Krell piped in, finally finding her voice again. “Maybe it’s a reference to her gender?”

Hermione took a measured breath, finding her own mind sluggish. It felt like she was processing everything a moment or two later than it happened. 

_ Focus! _she told herself, slowly rising to her feet. 

“What did you do to me?” she heard herself ask in a hoarse croak. 

_ “I asked you first,” _ said Nagiulum. _ “Answer the question.” _

“I will not!” retorted Hermione, her temper flaring. “You just assaulted me, and now you want me to answer a question?!”

Using her anger to sharpen her focus, she demanded, “I’m asking you again: what did you do to me?”

There was a lengthy pause, and then Nagilum’s mechanical voice came once more: _ “I am curious. I scanned you to analyze your construction more closely. But I still do not understand. Please, explain it to me.” _

Hermione glared at it but made no effort to reply. She felt Harry's hand come up to squeeze hers gently. 

_ ‘I’m with you,’ _the gesture said. And when she turned to meet his gaze, she saw in his eyes not only the same anger and frustration she was feeling, but also the tension and dread. She squeezed his hand back, feeling grateful for his support. 

Shev cleared his throat, putting an end to the tense silence. “Well, there are minor differences. Granger is what we call a female, and Potter is a male.”

_ “I understand,” _ said Nagilum. _ “Masculine and Feminine. Yin and Yang. Alpha and Omega.” _

“It is how many species propagate themselves,” explained Krell. 

_ “Hermione Granger, Harry Potter. Please, demonstrate how this is accomplished for your species.” _

“Piss off,” said Harry, conveying not only his thoughts regarding the matter but also Hermione’s. 

Who was this Nagilum to capture their vessel in a void and play games with them? What gave it the right to do this?

Hermione felt more than saw Nagilum’s gaze lingering on her. 

_ “I am an extra-dimensional being superior to you in every way,” _ Nagilum replied to Hermione’s silent questions. _ “I come from the sector of the galaxy that will become known as the Morgana sector. I am, what you call, immortal. I can take whatever shape and form I desire. I can create whatever and whoever I desire.” _

At this, Ginny suddenly materialized on the vessel, only a few feet from Harry—as if she’d just been transported there from a nearby ship. Hermione felt him grow tense beside her. 

“Harry,” ‘Ginny’ said, her arms outstretched and a big, radiant smile on her face. “I’ve missed you so much!” 

The smile slipped away. 

“Why have you abandoned me? I _ loved _ you, and you abandoned me!” 

She took a step in Harry’s direction, tears streaming down her face. 

There was a lot wrong with this picture—the tone of voice, the accusations, the uncharacteristic drama. _ And _ Ginny rarely cried. Harry had confessed to Hermione once that it was one of the many things he loved about Ginny. 

She threw a glance at her best friend, concerned how this would affect him, and found him frozen in shock. 

But it didn’t last long. 

Harry gave his head a shake. 

“I’m _ really _ not up for any mind games, Nagilum,” he said, his anger seeping into his voice, and his hand twitching in a way that indicated he was itching to retrieve his wand. 

But the creature wasn’t done playing yet. As ‘Ginny’ disappeared, dissolving like ink in water, Ron appeared. He looked just the way he did the last time Hermione had seen him, on that fateful day at the Department of Mysteries. He even wore the same robes. 

“Hermione, sweetheart—” began ‘Ron.’

Hermione silenced him with a nonverbal and wandless _ Silencio _. It was ridiculous. Ron had never called her a ‘sweetheart.’ There was only one person who called her that (as a joke and a tease, as far as she could tell), and he currently was light-years away. 

“That’s enough, Nagilum!” Hermione said fiercely, her hands clenched into fists. 

She didn’t spare the fake Ron another glance even as he disappeared in the same way the fake Ginny did. 

“What is it that you want?” she asked, her gaze glued to the viewscreen. “What could your _superior_ _majesty_ possibly want with us, lowly mortals?” 

_ “I told you. I am curious,” _ Nagilum replied. _ “Humanity isn’t worthy of discovering me for at least another hundred years, but you two are different. I’ve heard a lot about you.” _

“How?” asked Harry. 

_ “Cosmic chatter. People of Omri aren’t the only ones who know about you. I merely wanted to have a closer look at you and see your abilities for myself. I am surprised no one else has come forward to do the same.” _

“Guys, am I the only one who’s seriously confused here?” cut in Shev, clearly fed up with all the mysterious back and forth and the lack of clear answers. 

_ “Your life forms are fascinating,” _ went on Nagilum, once more ignoring Shev’s question. _ “Is it true that you all have only a limited existence?” _

Silence settled in the cockpit, and the cadets exchanged a confused glance. 

_ “Answer!” _demanded Nagilum.

“What information do you want exactly?” asked Harry. “Feel free to specify anytime.”

_ “You exist,” _ said Nagilum, a slight indication of impatience in its tone, _ “and then you cease to exist. Your minds call it ‘death.’ ” _

As soon as it finished saying the last word, Raix gasped, one hand flying to his neck. He dropped to his knees and began shaking.

Hermione was by his side in an instant, analyzing his condition. 

“Stop it!” she shouted at Nagilum. “Whatever you’re doing, he can’t breathe!”

Nagilum merely stared at her, its expression calculating.

Hermione and Harry weren’t supposed to make the existence of magic known to their teammates unless it was an emergency. This circumstance certainly qualified as such. But would any of their spells even work against this creature? This extra-dimensional being, who claimed to be superior to them in every way? And how could you fight something that supposedly wasn’t even there? 

Second after excruciating second passed by, and Nagilum did nothing to end Raix’s suffering. Just as the Bolian’s face began to turn purple, Hermione felt Harry’s magic pulse all around her. When she looked up at him, she found him in his battle-ready stance, with his wand drawn. A powerful Shield Charm that had first surrounded only her and Raix, expanded to encompass all five members of their team. 

The result was instantaneous. Raix gulped the air hungrily, bracing himself on his hands before sliding down to the floor and onto his back. Krell and Shev gaped at Harry. 

“Oh my stars,” Krell whispered in amazement, extending a hand towards the shimmering barrier of the shield. 

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry, and he nodded. It was necessary. There was only one way to find out whether any of their spells worked on Nagilum or not. They’d deal with the consequences later, but for now, they had to get out of this situation. She stood, retrieving her wand, and fortified his shield, eliciting another gasp of surprise from Krell. 

“I knew it!” exclaimed Shev. “I_ knew _ there was more to you than meets the eye.” 

On the one hand, it was good that the spell worked and Raix could breathe again. But on the other, it didn’t sit well with Hermione that this supposed extra-dimensional being would be stopped by a mere Shield Charm, albeit a powerful one. Unless, of course, Nagium willingly ended Raix’s suffering once its curiosity was satisfied. For now. 

“So is this it then?” Harry asked, shifting from one foot to another. “You wanted to see the extent of our abilities?”

_ “More or less,” _replied Nagilum. 

Hermione knelt once more beside Raix and ran a few diagnostic spells. “No serious damage, but you’ll experience vocal fatigue until I can properly treat you. So try not to talk for now, okay?”

Raix offered a nod in response. 

_ “Very interesting,” _ said Nagilum. _ “You can use your abilities to defend yourselves, as well as to heal? I want to see more.” _

As soon as it finished speaking, a piercing shriek rang out over the ship, followed by the automated message: _ “Warning: warp core breach in sixty seconds.” _

Harry swore and Disapparated, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Krell and Shev, and a moment later his voice came over the comm line from engineering:_ “Raix, would you mind getting down here?” _

Hermione helped the Bolian up and briefly considered just Apparating with him, but then changed her mind—there was a possibility he might get sick, and they had very little time at their disposal. 

She followed him down to engineering. The compartment looked in perfect shape—no plasma seeping from the chamber, no radiation plumes, no steaming plasma coolant. Apart from the lights of the Red Alert ominously blinking on the walls, nothing indicated they were in trouble. 

“Is it just me,” said Harry, throwing a glance at Hermione, “or is it too much of a coincidence that our warp core spontaneously decides to breach shortly after we meet a being very interested in our abilities?”

She nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.” 

“What exactly is the problem?” asked Shev, also following them down to engineering. 

_ “Warning: warp core breach in forty-five seconds.” _

“For some unknown reason,” said Harry, looking up from one of the consoles as he continued his attempts to fix the problem, “the antimatter containment fields are failing, and I can’t find a way to restore them.”

“Can’t you guys just . . . do whatever it is that you can do?” asked Shev, his gaze flicking between Hermione and Harry.

“Given that one ounce of antimatter has the explosive force of more than ten thousand cobalt bombs, we haven’t quite decided to experiment with it yet,” said Hermione sarcastically. 

“Slackers,” Shev quipped, a hint of hysteria in his voice. 

Hermione ignored Shev and continued working on the problem, trying to find any error messages—anything—that would help them resolve this baffling circumstance.

“Is it possible this is all just an illusion?” asked Harry. 

Hermione, as she often did, got the unspoken part of his question: ‘_ Just like the Ginny and Ron we’ve just seen?’ _

_ “Warning: warp core breach in thirty seconds,” _the computer’s dreaded voice droned out. 

“We can’t fix this,” said Raix hoarsely, slamming his hand hard on the side of the console. “We have to eject it.”

That or use the escape pods. Ejecting the core was preferable to fleeing in escape pods, but the window of opportunity had nearly passed. 

Her stomach in knots and her breath quickening, Hermione observed, like in slow motion, as Raix raced for the emergency panel. 

And then she and Harry reacted simultaneously.

“Wait!” they shouted, and Raix’s outstretched arm froze halfway to the panel.

They exchanged a glance and a nod, a silent agreement passing between them. 

“Harry’s right,” she said. “None of this is real. The warp core breach isn’t really happening—it’s just Nagilum playing games with us again.”

_ And what if Harry’s wrong? _ she asked herself briefly, but the more she thought about it, the surer she became that he was right. If they died now, Nagilum wouldn’t be able to continue playing games (and from the looks of things, it’d just barely begun), to satisfy its curiosity. This _ had _ to be just a scenario, fabricated to see what they would do. What they’d _ all _do. 

“You think it can do that?” asked Raix, his brow furrowed. 

“I do,” Harry replied with a small nod. 

“Think about everything it’s done so far,” said Hermione. “Think about its motivations—it wants to observe us, so it wouldn’t just obliterate us all.” 

_ “Warning: warp core breach in fifteen seconds.” _

“Sounds pretty real to me, guys. I’m not willing to risk everyone’s lives,” said Shev, before shouting: “Everyone into escape pods!”

He swallowed, and his antennae drooped momentarily—he likely wasn’t eager to confine himself in yet another tight space. 

But he recovered quickly. 

“Abandon ship!” he continued, throwing a glance at Hermione and Harry. “Now!”

Raix ran for one of the two escape pods located at the far side of engineering, and upon reaching it, slammed his left foot onto the leaver. It gave way easily, and the interior of the pod glowed green. A fraction of a second later, he’d boarded, and his pod raced away.

“Potter, what are you waiting for?” shouted Shev, pointing at the second escape pod. “Granger, with me!”

He made to climb the small set of stairs towards the cockpit, where the remaining three escape pods were located, but stopped, upon realizing Hermione wasn’t following him. 

“What’s wrong with you? Potter!”

_ “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .” _

Harry didn’t move either, apart from coming to stand beside Hermione. 

_ ‘Are we absolutely sure about this?’ _ his gaze questioned. 

_ ‘Yes.’ _

He gave her a barely perceptible nod. 

“We’re staying here,” he told Shev, speaking over the computer, his arms crossed. 

“Granger, I’m giving you a direct order!”

“Sorry, Shev,” she said, suddenly feeling sick and lowering herself right onto the floor. “But we can’t give Nagilum what it wants. Or it’ll never stop playing games.” 

_ “Five . . . four . . .” _

“Damn you, Granger! If we die, I’m going to haunt you!”

Hermione scoffed. 

“How would you do that if I’m also dead?” she said lightly, hoping that her voice didn’t convey the fear that she felt. 

Fear that they might be wrong and their stubbornness might kill them all. 

As the computer counted out the last seconds, she glanced at Harry for support, finding her own emotions reflected in his gaze. The countdown hit zero. 

There was a long moment of silence where they all processed the fact that they were still alive. Shev gave a great sigh of relief as the red lights ceased their blinking. 

“I’m done being captain. This whole _‘Don’t leave a crew member behind and_ _go down with your ship’ _business is not for me. And this isn’t even part of the exam anymore.”

Then he turned to them, his expression furious. 

“You two!” he snarled, his antennae ramrod straight, and his hands clenched into fists. “You’re . . . you’re . . .”

Seemingly lost for words, he trailed off and began speaking in rapid-fire Andorian—some of the words Hermione recognized as obscenities.

“Feeling better?” Hermione asked, when Shev finally stopped talking. “Did you get it all out of your system?”

Shev, breathing heavily, trained his furious gaze on her, and continued speaking Andorian. 

“Hey!” cut in Harry, apparently recognizing the obscenities. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” shouted Shev in Standard, stomping his foot. 

“Good thing you have a _ doctor-in-training _ on board,” said Hermione coolly. 

“Is this a _ joke _ to you?”

“Am I laughing?”

Shev stared at her, his nostrils flaring, and Hermione stared steadily back. 

“Look,” said Harry after a pregnant pause, “we were right. The warp core didn’t breach, and we’re all still here. Well, apart from Raix—and Krell, who probably took off in a pod as well. They probably haven’t got far, since we haven’t exactly found a way out of the loop. We just need to get them back and—”

Harry was interrupted by the alarm starting up for another deafening round of noise.

Shev swore. “What now?” he asked snappishly. 

“We’ve got a hull breach,” replied Harry, consulting the nearest terminal. “Cockpit.”

He’d barely finished speaking, when an ear-splitting shriek came from the area in question. 

“Krell,” said Harry and took off in the direction of the emergency. 

Apparently, Krell hadn’t escaped in a pod. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Nagilum was borrowed from ST:TNG S02E02 "Where Silence Has Lease."


End file.
